


Black Car, White Knights

by yesimcastielsgirl



Series: Black Car, White Knights [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Canon Appropriate Violence, F/M, Humor, Sloppy Makeouts, Smut, Swearing, all the sex, canon appropriate injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:39:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yesimcastielsgirl/pseuds/yesimcastielsgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which our Reader discovers demons are real, there are bad things in the night, and Dean Winchester is kind of a jackass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first story! Please let me know what you think!

“What do you mean I have to share a bed?”

 

You were tired, hungry, and frustrated. Fourteen hours ago you had been going about your normal routine: Sleep, work at the bookstore, go home, watch Netflix and play video games, sleep.

 

Thirteen hours ago two ridiculously hot guys had come to the shop, booted feet tromping on the delicate painted flooring, the taller one ducking and weaving under the dangling dream catchers and crystals.

Twelve hours ago you were crawling through the cobwebbed attic and digging through the dust of decades looking for the one book the guys, brothers you had discovered, insisted was stored up there somewhere and they just HAD to have it. (It wasn't the pushy demands of the green-eyed Dean that had convinced you to venture into the attic, it had been the earnest expression and the sweet eyes of Sam, the taller one. _Still weren't sure what color his eyes were but damn._ )

Eleven hours ago, the most frightening man you had ever seen in your life had broken down the door of the now closed bookstore, white teeth flashing in a grin, eyes a pure inky black that made your own flash wide and terrified.

Ten hours ago, the Winchesters had picked you up off of the floor of the formerly charming little bookstore and carried you out of the fire that was blazing up in the stacks of books. It was a while before you realized you were in a car speeding through the night, something cold soothing over your face and washing clean the cuts and bruises left by the maniac that had attacked you.

You were still absorbing the whole “Yes, demons are real. So are many other Very Bad Things” speech that Sam had given you on the long drive. He had been patient and answered most of your questions, while Dean contributed snorts and corrections and smart ass remarks you would only find funny if you had said them yourself. Not to mention that your first encounter with a demon had left you bruised to hell and back and with what promised to be a dashing scar just down your left temple. _Fanfuckingtastic._

Tired, hungry, frustrated, and now just plain mad. “Yes, Dean, I can clearly see that there are only two beds in this cut rate horror movie hotel. I can also clearly see that I don't know either one of you! I didn't ask to be dragged out of my home in the middle of the night to God knows where to do God knows what. So no, I am not sharing a bed, you two can share a bed or go sleep in the car for all that I care. _I_ am sleeping in this sorry excuse for a bed, period.” You sank down into the too-soft mattress with as much mutiny as the act of sitting on a bed could portray. Arms crossed, mouth set, you imagined tiny little daggers flying from your eyes into those smirky green eyes across the room. _Daggers, little dotted lines, pew pew, right into Dean's stupid face._ Handsome face but stupid face.

“Well that's not going to work, sweetheart,” Dean returned. _God did he have any other mode than swagger/smart ass?_ “Driver gets the bed, passengers--”

“Shut their cakeholes? That doesn't work as well here.” Sam offered that and came to sit on the bed beside you. Some sort of solidarity, or maybe he was just happy to have someone else to help deal with his brother's gigantic ego. “Look, Y/N, I know this is all confusing and scary. I promise you will understand. Right now, keeping you away from that book is the best thing we can do to keep you safe.” His large hand patted your shoulder gingerly. You could feel your eyes rolling so hard they hurt, _what, were you supposed to woof and wag your tail now?_

“I still don't get that part. I need to avoid the book, why? Why can that not be accomplished by, I don't know, never going near the book? Which I no longer possess by the way since that demon guy took it with him. There are, you know, restraining orders and tasers? Lots of ways to avoid that dude and the book without racing off into the night like some bad TV show.” You were half turned now to address Sam, intent on being taken seriously but seriously distracted while you tried to determine his eye color. _Green? Blue? Brown? All of the above? Probably all of the above._

“Because they need your blood to complete a spell. Your ancestor created it, and he made his own blood a spell component.” You listened to Sam thoughtfully, nodding just as if you didn't think he was crazy as hell. “Until we can destroy the book, you're safer with us. Maybe we can take you somewhere safe and stash you until we find the demon that took the book, trust me, Y/N, you're much safer here with Dean and me.” His smile was full of hope that you understood and accepted and weren't going to keep yelling at his brother.

You took a deep breath, rubbing your palms on your thighs, the jeans splattered with your own blood and dirt and who knew what else. Nod nod, rub rub, take a breath. “All right. Assuming you aren't both batshit crazy, and it really is safer for me to be here than on my own... I'm still sleeping in this bed.” You were going to win _some_ kind of victory that night, even a petty one.

“Fine with me, princess,” Dean said, pulling his black t-shirt off his torso _(How can he look that good and be such an ass_ ) and digging out a clean white shirt to replace it. “I'm sleeping here, you're sleeping there, sucks to be you Sammy.” He threw himself onto his chosen bed with an exaggerated sigh, grinning as he tucked his arms behind his head.

“Yeah I guess it does.” Sam sighed and glanced around the tiny horrible room. Beds, a dresser, a shabby table and two chairs, lamps. He then studied the carpet, a shudder going through him. You looked down and also shuddered, ugh, gross. “Guess I'm in the car then.” He stood up and gave you a half smile. _Jesus freakin' Christ he has puppy eyes. Dammit._

You sighed and rolled your eyes again. “No no, that's stupid. Why should you be inconvenienced just because your brother is a jackass? I'm a lot shorter than you, I'm sure we can both manage on this bed.” You'd just be sleeping fully clothed with a pillow between you. Surely that would work. You ignored Dean's indignant “Hey!” and did what you could to get cleaned up. Sam tossed you a large t-shirt from his bag and you grabbed it out of the air gratefully. “Thanks man, I wasn't looking forward to sleeping in all this mess,” you gestured at your dirty, bloodied clothing.

One quick shower later and at least you had a bra and panties.. no help for it but to put your boy shorts back on.. and a dark grey t-shirt that covered you all the way to your knees. Your scoured your hair mostly dry with a towel and stepped into a now darkened room. Leaving the bathroom door open just a crack for light, you made your way to the bed you hopefully could share with Sam, who with your luck would be one of those people who took up the entire bed in their sleep. He was huddle to one side, his back to you, asleep or pretending to be. Dean was asleep, you brilliantly deduced from the snores rising from under his covers. Covers. That might be a problem.

Sam was wrapped up pretty well in the sheet and blankets that covered your mutual bed. You preferred the sleeping like a burrito method yourself. You looked from your bed, to Dean's. Your bed, to Dean's. _Ha, sucker, falling asleep first._

With great care you crept over to Dean's bed. Ever so slowly, you gripped the edge of his blanket and began to pull it towards you. It took time, patience, and a lot of effort not to snicker so hard you woke him up. The blond hunter fidgeted in his sleep, turning, but that only assisted you in your ingenious theft! Quietly you wrapped the stolen sheet and blanket around you, very pleased that it was already warm thanks to Mr. I-Am-The-Boss-What-Are-You-Going-To-Do-About-It-Winchester. Turning around, you beheld Sam half sitting up, his mouth half open and his eyebrows arched high.

“Shh!” you didn't whisper as you waved your hand at him and minced towards his bed. You slid into it and burrowed your head into the pillow, a victorious smile plastered on your face. “That's what he gets for being so selfish.” You did whisper that to Sam, who laughed softly and returned to his own pillow. You'd be well satisfied for whatever hell had to be paid in the morning, at least until Dean woke up and the yelling started.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No warnings needed.
> 
> In which Dean talks with his mouth full, Sam is adorable, and the Reader learns a bit about finding a case.

Y/N = your name Y/E/C = your eye color Y/H/C = your hair color

 _Why was it so cold?_ Dean Winchester awoke with the realization that he was freakin' cold and it was very, very quiet in the shabby motel room. No sounds of Sam or their new ~~luggage~~ acquaintance breathing or moving around. He slipped his hand under his pillow and silently removed the 9mm from its habitual resting place. Easing off of the bed, he straightened and scanned the dark room. After a moment he edged over to the bathroom and flipped the light on, spilling a weak radiance across the motel floor and onto the beds. Empty beds, both of them. Dean grunted and moved forward into the room. He understood why he'd woken up cold when he saw the sheet and blankets from his bed crumpled up in the bed Sam had shared with Y/N. Huh. _Must've kicked them off in my sleep._ He went to the front window and flipped up one slat of the blinds. Now **that** pissed him off, the empty parking space where his baby had sat.

“I did not buy an entire store's worth of junk,” you said in your most dignified manner. True, the back seat of the Impala was littered with crumpled plastic bags but you had needed all of the things you'd bought. “I bought clothes and a duffle bag and you know, stuff. That I needed.” Your innocently indignant Y/E/C eyes met Dean's squinty green ones in the rear view mirror. “You **did** drag me away from home with nothing but my phone. I don't even have my house keys!” You continued to pull the tags from the clothing you'd been able to find at the local middle-of-nowhere Mal-Mart at five o'clock in the morning.

****************************  
  
You'd woken up at 4:36 am, according to the alarm clock that sat on the table between the two beds. You were toasty warm and extremely comfortable in your stolen bedclothes. Beside you, you could hear Sam's quiet breathing and feel the warmth from his side of the bed. It was so nice to have all the covers in the room. Easing up, you could just make out Dean's form curled onto the his bed. _Poor baby, he must be cold. Ha_. It took extra care to get your battered clothes into the bathroom, get changed, and get back out again without waking up either brother. You were standing near the door, considering your options and wondering where the keys to the shiny black car might be, when you noticed Sam sitting up.

You instantly decided that it was a much better idea to enlist Sam's aid in obtaining what you needed than to 'borrow' their car. You crept to the bed and sat on the edge, leaning in to whisper to Sam. “I really need to pick up some things, clothes, a coat, shampoo. Do you think we could make a run for supplies before your brother wakes up? We could get breakfast too.” Sam had leaned his head close to catch your barely breathed words and _dammit he smelled good. Warm, sleepy Sam Winchester with his hair tangled and so close to your face_ was mesmerizing.

“Sure, let me get dressed and we'll go.” Regretfully, you stood and moved to wait near the door while Sam repeated your actions of gathering clothes and retreating to the bathroom. You didn't watch after him because it was polite, not because it was too dark to see anything other than the lighter patch that was his retreating t-shirt. Briefly you considered turning the AC down super low.. but there was no need to antagonize Dean any further when you'd clearly scored a major victory by stealing all his covers, whether he was aware of that fact or not.

  
****************************

“We did bring you breakfast, Dean,” Sam told his brother as he handed across a cup of coffee. “We needed to pick up some more salt and some shotgun shells anyway. Now we're done and on the road and we didn't have to interrupt your beauty sleep.” The snort you gave earned you another irritated glance via the rear view mirror. “Anyway, we should decide what our next move will be. Are we going to take Y/N somewhere and stash her or what?”

“I vote we don't 'stash' me anywhere. I want to do whatever it takes to be able to return home as soon as possible.” You had folded and packed away the clothing and toiletries you'd purchased, thankful that you had stuck with the annoying phone case with the compartment for your ID and credit cards. You truly had needed everything stocked into the duffle bag. The coat you now wore too, though a man's over-sized barn coat was not your first choice in outerwear. (Sam had discouraged you from buying anything in the bright colors you preferred because of 'concealment and the barn coat had more pockets blah blah'. You had refused to give into the plaid flannel phenomenon however.) The iPod and laptop were still necessary but not as vital as the clothes.. nope, still vital. You didn't even mind that you had to wait to charge them up later. “I'm not a puppy, you can't just drop me at a kennel and drive away.”

“We'll do whatever we need to do, sweetheart,” Dean mumbled around a mouth of breakfast sandwich. He swallowed the mouthful and repeated his statement more clearly. “Sam, you call Bobby and see what he knows about Y/N's ancestors or the spell or book or anything useful. Y/N, grab those newspapers Sam picked up and look through them for anything strange or unusual.”

“Unusual like book stores burning up and the employee disappearing into thin air?” You spoke sarcasm fluently; it was like a second language to you. You did pick up the first newspaper however and began paging through it.

“Yeah actually. Anything strange or weird. Murders are good.” You gaped at Dean. He must have felt it because he turned to give you a charming grin, only partially ruined by the food he had stuffed into his cheek like a chipmunk. “I mean it's a good way to find the kind of problems we solve. Odd murders, disappearances, people suddenly losing their marbles and going on a knifing spree. Then we check to see if there are any other instances of that kind of activity in the same town, and to check on any local legends.” Dean didn't sound at all sarcastic or pleased to be himself during his explanation. It was a little strange to find yourself listening attentively.

“Well. That makes way more sense that it should,” you replied and began scanning over the papers. In the seat Sam was carrying on a quiet conversation with someone on the other end of his phone call. He glanced back at you once or twice as he spoke, nodding with either encouragement or approval as you worked your way through the newspapers. You lost the thread of what he was saying while you read over crime reports, obituaries, and local headlines. You were on the third out of five papers when you realized that neither of the Winchesters were talking. Glancing up, you saw Sam turned in his seat, watching you with a little smile that flashed out his dimples. _Jesus_. “What? I'm a fast reader.” You hunched your shoulders slightly and scowled into the People section you were reading.

“Found anything yet?” Sam reached over with his long, long arm to claim the still unread newspapers beside you. “Mmm.. nothing that seems very strange. I mean, weird stuff happens all the time right? That's how we get the Weekly World News yeah?” Not that you would ever admit to enjoying that particular black and white tabloid. “There's this: Tragedy Stalks High School Reunion. Police are at a loss to explain why three members of Central High's class of 1990, celebrating its 25th reunion, have all been found dead in the past week.” You looked up to see the brothers exchanging a glance.

“That sounds like our kind of thing. Where is this place?” Dean asked, tossing the empty sandwich wrapper over his shoulder (and into your lap).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam thinks his brother is a jerk, Dean thinks he is all that and a side of fries, and the Reader doesn't like ghosts.

Y/N = your name Y/E/C = your eye color Y/H/C = your hair color

 

“ _I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks. I do, I do, I do.”_

That was the image playing in your head, the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz holding his tail and chanting those words over and over. You surely looked just as terrified as the poor Lion as you raced down the empty school hallway. The dim night lighting showed exactly what one would expect of a high school corridor after midnight: Polished tile floor, lockers running along the wall, closed wooden doors with signs indicating the room number and teacher, fire extinguishers and fire alarms at regular intervals down the walls. The far end of the hall was blocked by two heavy steel doors. And you, of course, trying to catch your breath as your heart pounded in your chest. _Where the hell were Sam and Dean?_

************  
  
The brothers had determined that it was a ghost causing all the deaths at the high school reunion. Sam, after explaining the procedure known as a salt-and-burn, had left to track down the young man's grave and put him to rest once and for all. You and Dean had remained behind at the school to ensure nothing else happened before the ghost's worldly remains were destroyed. Nothing ever did work out quite right though did it?

“I thought you said that the ghost was only after the people he felt had wronged him in life!” You hissed at Dean, Y/E/C eyes wide with alarm as you peered around the corner. “Neither one of us ever did a thing to that bastard so how do you explain that!” The last word was on a yelp as something whipped past your face, hard enough to blow open the locker door it struck.

“Cause he's pissed! Move!” Dean grabbed your hand and yanked you along as he raced down the corridor, sliding around a corner and into another hall. “It don't matter why he's throwing ghosty fast balls at us, it only matters that we don't get hit!” _That was wisdom_ , the part of your mind that observed everything coolly reported to you. “I'll try to get its attention. You find a way to get out of here and wait for Sam.” He spun you around and sent you going forward with a slap to your ass. Dean Winchester was infuriating, but he seemed to know what he was doing and he was determined to keep you out of harm's way.

With one more look at Dean (now standing in the middle of the T-section hallway with his hands on his hips and his chin jutting out.. you could just read “Come at me bro” all over him) you continued down this hall, past locked offices and chairs stacked in the halls, to the long stretch of tiled corridor that dead ended in the steel doors. This wasn't the way you and Dean had come into the school but it would have to do. You hoped it would let you outside and not into some other part of the building.

“Fuck's sake, who locks a door like this in the middle of a damned school!” You pushed then pulled at the door's handle frantically but it didn't budge. Locked, the pair of them. Turning back you went to the next door along the wall. It bore a sign that said “Room 204, Mr. Allen.” Mr. Allen had remembered to lock his door evidently. So had all of his colleagues. _Fanfuckingtastic_.

That's when you had heard a very disturbing low-pitched moaning sound coming from the completely empty hall behind you.

************

Sam hefted the final shovel full of dirt out of the grave. This was not his favorite part of hunter work, not that any part could really be said to be his favorite. Research, maybe, or getting to see so many new places. _Who am I kidding, I see crappy diners and terrible motel rooms and morgues and cemeteries._ Sam wiped his brow with his forearm then began the always entertaining task of breaking through a casket with his shovel. _I don't care if it was my turn, Dean should have done this and left Y/N with me. He's too hard on her. She's probably afraid and my jerk brother won't do anything to make her feel better. Hell he's liable to hide somewhere and jump out at her._

_************_

_It'd be hilarious if I could sneak up on Y/N and jump out at her._ Dean had finally realized why he had woken up cold in the hotel room that morning. Y/N had denied all knowledge as to the disposition of his blankets, but Sam couldn't stop grinning. Freakin' Sam. _Not like I have enough to deal with, Sammy's moods and being all Mr. Sensitive, now he gets a partner in crime to drive me crazy? That is totally unfair._ Dean stalked down the halls, his footsteps echoing from the tiled floors and walls. No sign of the freakin' ghost either. That was either very good or very bad. He had pulled out his phone to give Sam a call when the first scream filled the empty corridors.

************

You'd never considered yourself to be especially fearful or timid. Sure, the black-eyed demon that had tried to bleed you in the bookstore where you had worked (that seemed so long ago, not just days) had scared you spitless but that was a completely normal reaction! Scary movies didn't bother you at all, except when you were alone late at night and the streetlights made weird shadows and ok, so maybe there were times you had retreated to your bedroom with all the lights on and slept holding a baseball bat but everyone was creeped out by scary movies sometimes. You were not some fainting flower afraid of her own shadow.

You were however very much afraid of the spectral shape floating in the air only a few feet from you. It looked like a young man wearing a baseball uniform. It also looked old, dead, and rotted, bones showing through the tattered skin, gaunt face snarling and showing what had to be WAY too many broken teeth. So of course you had shrieked like a tea kettle, scrambled around on the waxed floor in a manner that would surely have been hilarious at any other time, and gone flailing down the corridor. Rounding a corner you ran smack into a solid wall of plaid and brown leather. You shrieked again as strong hands gripped your upper arms and you were dragged down the hallway too fast for your feet to keep up.

“Shhh, dammit, pipe down!” It was Dean. Your scream faltered off into a pathetic “Eehhhh” sound before stopping. You saw the elder Winchester look back over your head, hard green eyes searching the darkened hall, but you'd also seen the smirk that had twitched the corner of his mouth when you made that deflating balloon noise. “We'll find somewhere to hole up and wait. Once Sam finds this bastard and does his job, we can get out of here.” You'd regained your feet but Dean kept hold of your left arm, steering you around corners, trying every door on his side of the hall. “Finally! In you go and be quiet.”  
He shoved you into the darkened room first, quickly stepping in to shut the door behind him. He only got another step into the room because he nearly flattened you against the opposite wall.  
  
“Dude stop! This is a closet!” You twisted against the wall and turned, hands raised and stopping against the hard warmth of his chest. “We have to find somewhere else--” A loud shrieking wail from down the corridor made you jump, an incoherent noise finishing your sentence. Your fingers twisted into Dean's shirt as his arms came up around you.

“Shh, shh, it's gonna be fine. Just be quiet. Sammy'll burn this bitch then we'll be out of here. We can stop for waffles and hash browns.” Dean's voice was hushed and you felt it rumbling in his chest almost more than he heard it. He was getting to know you, all right; there was almost nothing a plate of hash browns couldn't fix. One of his hands soothed over your back and his chin came to rest on top of your hair. Your heart was pounding in your chest but Dean's was beating steadily, not particularly rushed, as if being trapped in a closet by an enraged ghost wasn't the slightest bit upsetting. You shivered against him as the wailing sound grew louder.. but to your surprise, you found yourself distracted by the scents coming off of the hunter's clothing. _Soap and clean sweat, gun metal, leather, something else that was faintly sweet._ You didn't realize that you'd lifted your face to breathe in the enticing fragrance until you felt Dean's lips brush against your forehead. You froze, more startled now by the hunter that held you so easily than the spirit lurking around in the high school halls. _Was he – was Dean Winchester seriously going to take advantage of the fact you were terrified and stuck with him in a closet?_ You could feel him laugh quietly against your hands as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. One of his hands lifted to hold your chin and tilt it up gently. _Yep looked like that was exactly what was happening_. In a moment's clarity you realized that you both absolutely did not want him to kiss you and you absolutely needed him to kiss you. That insight kept you stone still in his arms as Dean's warm lips brushed gently over yours. You could tell even in that light touch that he was smiling against your mouth. _Freakin' over confident_ then his mouth was settled against yours, sucking your bottom lip between his full ones, his hands sliding down to your hips and pulling you against him.

You had just opened your mouth to allow his tongue inside when his phone rang. You jolted away from Dean, the total of the four or so inches space the closet would allow you to move, your hand slapping against your mouth in surprise. Your lips tingled where Dean's had met yours. _Maybe you were allergic to him?_ You heard him laugh again before he answered his phone. “Sammy, your timing sucks as always. Yeah? All right we'll meet you outside. Time to go, princess. Sam's finished up and he's a few minutes out from picking us up.” Dean reached for you! – no he was reaching for the doorknob, opening the door so that you could spill out into the hall.

“Right, we should go.” You weren't running away from Dean because that would be silly and undignified. You just really wanted to get outside and away from any chance that the ghost wasn't vanquished. You kept telling yourself that all the way out into the parking lot. _Freakin' Dean Winchester._

 

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam learns more about the Reader's history, Dean avoids laundry, and the Reader learns more about the world of hunters.

Black Car, White Knights Chapter IV

 

Y/N = your name Y/E/C = your eye color Y/H/C = your hair color

 

“I'm pretty sure it won't take three of us to conquer the dangers of the laundromat.”

 

You were smirking when you said this, leaning over the front seat of the Impala and giving Dean Winchester as much sass-face as you could manage. That was your plan to handling the _incredibly sexy kiss that so totally had not been haunting your dreams_ and to get things back to normal. Well, as normal as things could get with you tagging along with the brothers to keep you safe while they hunted up any number of unnatural creatures.

“Oh you have a better idea?” Dean's green gaze met yours in the rear view mirror, one sandy brow lifted in question. “Maybe want us to get a day planner, pencil in a tea party in a fancy garden?” You gave him the evil eye so hard in the mirror. SO HARD.

“No, smartass. Seriously. You guys drop me by the laundromat with the clothes, then you go by the sporting goods store or whatever. Maybe you could pick up some lunch, and drop Sam and lunch back here. He can defend me from the Terror that Came from the Lint Trap while you go to the car parts place.” Great was your satisfaction when Mr. Bossyface Dean could find no flaw in your reasoning.

That's how you wound up in a 70s era laundromat, all faded yellow plastic and dingy while tiles with brown starbursts scattered over them, queen of all you surveyed. That made you the queen of two very large duffel bags crammed with dirty clothes and a dozen washers and dryers. You considered the plain wooden benches and wobbly plastic tables to be also under your command.

It took almost half an hour to convince the extremely irritable older lady that managed the place to deign to change out some dollars for quarters, and to go to all the trouble of actually selling you some detergent and bleach. Those items were, you supposed, actually for show and since you didn't live here, you were unaware of their 'display only, you can't possibly expect me to work' status. By the time you heard the Impala rolling up outside, you had gotten all the clothes separated (willfully not spending much time at all on the boxer briefs, tight jeans, or _tshirts that still smelled of Winchester_ except to dutifully sort them out) and started the washing in several machines.

“Finally! I was beginning to be afraid that I would have to survive on tap water and twenty-five cent gumballs.” Sam grinned at you as he came through the door, hands full of cups and folded paper bags. “I'm amazed – were you able to find something that wasn't fried? And Dean let you bring it in the car?” You grabbed at one of the sandwich shop chain bags happily.

“I figured we could both use some vegetables. There's chicken on yours, is that all right?” As you were already taking a bite out of the sandwich, you nodded enthusiastically. Man Sam was really cute when he asked questions, eyebrows furrowed, looking out from under his bangs. Stupid Winchester genes. “I know Dean talked to you about this the other day,” Sam was settling down on one of the 'vintage' plastic chairs and unwrapping his sandwich as he spoke “but have you ever used any kind of firearm? Do you know anything about shooting?”

You managed to swallow the large bite of sandwich and answer with some level of decorum. “No, I really haven't.. there was never much of a need for me to learn that stuff. I mean, my dad hunted but he disappeared when I was really little so I don't remember much about that. My brother hunted some with his friends but I never was much into it.” The words were out before you could re-frame your reply and you busied yourself with unwrapping a straw and getting it into your drink. Maybe Sam would just gloss on by the reference to your brother.

“You have a brother? I didn't know that.” Of course Sam wouldn't let it pass. He looked at you with some sort of renewed interest and you realized you were going to have to explain your family situation. _It's okay. I can do this. Sam is kind and I like him very much and it will be all right. Really._ “I guess we never stopped to ask but is there anyone you should get in touch with, to let them know that you're okay?”

“Ah. Well, about that, let me see. My mother's parents are still living, but they pretty much live on cruise ships most of the year. They keep an apartment in Miami but that's really just to have a mailing address and some place to store their wardrobes. I see them twice a year usually, but I don't hear from them very often. Just postcards when they visit new places.” You shrugged and studied your sandwich intently, as if the olives and spinach and onions held mysteries. “As I said, my dad disappeared when I was five or so. I mean, he vanished, he didn't run off or anything.” Sam made a noise at this; glancing up you show him frowning a little at your words. “We looked for him for years, hired a detective and everything. So far as I have even been able to find out, he never applied for a new driver's license when the one he had ran out. There's no record of him registering his truck or any truck in any of the states he would have been traveling through. His Social Security records stop at the same time, he's never filed for benefits or filed taxes. He just disappeared.”

“That's got to be tough, Y/N,” Sam commented. He was still eating his lunch, slowly, and watching you with a deliberately casual air. Of all people Sam Winchester knew that losing family was hard and he wasn't sure how you handled it. He was interested in you, of course, more than interested maybe if he let himself think about it, and he wanted to find out as much about you at he could while the two of you had a bit of peace and quiet. “So your mom raised you on her own?”

“Yeah she brought up Ethan and me. That was my brother's name, Ethan.” You weren't looking at Sam but you heard his breath catch slightly at your use of the past tense. “Mom worked at a local nursery, the plant kind not the child kind, and Ethan worked after school around baseball practice. I did some babysitting to earn pocket money. It wasn't bad really, I had it better than a lot of kids who had both parents.” You drank down the tea in your cup, wishing there was a way to refill it. Talking about your family made your throat dry for some reason. “Anyway, it was the three of us until two winters ago. Mom was driving Ethan back from an out of state game. It was night time and there was a lot of ice on the roads. They were involved in a pile up with several other cars.” You shrugged again, picking absently at a spinach leaf and concentrating on it. “Black ice. It can get pretty bad and there's usually at least one bad wreck every winter. That year, it was the pile-up and Ethan and our mom were in the middle of it. I'm told they probably didn't have much time to even know what was happening to them.” Another shrug and you still couldn't lift your gaze to meet Sam's.

His large hand reached out and rested on your knee, just sitting there. You smiled at it and patted his hand gently with your own. “It's all right. I mean, it has to be yeah? I don't have a time machine, that's my personal motto. No time machine, I can only go forward.” You finally raised your head and peered out at him from behind a fall of Y/H/C bangs. “I – didn't do very well for a while. It took a long time to get back to, you know, living. Mom's best friends helped, they came and helped me clean out the house and move things into storage. I sold the house and moved to the town where you and Dean found me. I just wish I could have grabbed the things I kept of Mom and Ethan. Maybe I can get someone to mail them to me at some point.” You took another bite of sandwich, shaking yourself and drawing in a breath when you finished it. “Anyway! What started all that? Oh yeah, guns, no I don't know how to use any kind of guns.”

Sam nodded, his cat-tilted eyes on yours. The light coming in from the windows made them light up green and brown, so pretty. It would be all to easy to get lost in his fascinating eyes and miss the emotions behind them. “ That's fine, Y/N. We picked up a little 38 at the sporting goods store. It should fit your tiny, tiny hand.” He smiled at that and received a smile from you in return. “We can teach you how to shoot and how to take care of it. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry about your mom and your brother. Really.” He squeezed your knee then returned to finishing his own lunch.

“So,” you said after you'd both eaten and had taken all the now clean washing to the dryers and started them spinning, “I know demons and ghosts are real and that salt lines will stop both of them. What else is real?” While the clothes dried, and you and Sam sorted and folded and repacked the duffel bags, you learned that ghosts, vampires, witches, werewolves, ghouls, shapeshifters, and wendigoes were all really for real, though their reality didn't match up to your knowledge. Apparently being an avid reader and a D&D player did not bestow the kinds of information that translated in the real world. You then questioned Sam regarding various monsters you had faced in those games and were dismayed to learn that rakshasha, striga, wraiths, kitsune, and djinn were all real.

“There are some others as well, tulpas, vetalas, okami, really lots and lots of things. Oh and evil spirits that are sort of ghosts but not quite.” Sam laughed down at your shocked expression. “I know, it's a great deal to absorb at all at once. Oh and don't forget about demons and angels.” He hefted up one parked bag and tried to grab the other but you held onto it with both hands.

“Angels? There are angels? They're monsters?” You backed out of the door of the laundromat, bumping it open with your hip and hauling your plunder of clean clothes with you, Sam following.

“Yes, and most of them are dicks if not monsters. It's a long story. Ah, look who arrives just in time to not do any of the work whatsoever, “Sam drawled as the Impala purred up to the pair of you and stopped. “Dean's sense of timing works again.”

“C'mon, washerwomen, we got a case,” Dean hollered through the open windows. The only reply that sprang to mind, _I'll wash your women,_ was so stupid that you kept your mouth shut and climbed into the back seat.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader encounters a witch, Dean gives the Reader a new nickname, and Sam loves kitties.

Y/N = your name

 

“I'd appreciate it if you could keep your ass out of my face.”

 

_Several hours earlier:_

“Move, Y/N!” Those terse words were followed immediately by a fast-moving Dean Winchester nearly knocking you to the floor in his haste to get both you and himself out of the room. You could hear glass shattering – something hitting the wall where your head had just been, perhaps – and a woman's voice shrieking something in Latin. You thought it was Latin, you didn't really have time to analyze.

Dean flung you down the hallway towards the kitchen. “Get going! Get outside, hide, wait for me and Sam to finish up this bitch!” You shot him a wide-eyed glance, taking in his 'serious business' face and the scratches that raked his cheek. _Good Lord but that boy was a slab of hard muscle_ in a black t-shirt and black-and-blue plaid shirt. You fought with the chain and deadbolt of the back door, wrestling them open and diving to the porch outside.

You'd managed to convince Dean to allow you to go along on this hunt. After all, you'd spent the last two weeks going over and over the lessons Sam had created for you, learning what monster was what and how to defend against it. The brothers weren't so keen on you learning how to actually kill monsters, but even Dean had to admit that you really needed to know at least how to defend against creatures you were likely to encounter while in their company. You were, well, not totally sucking with the .38. Sam wouldn't let you carry it yet though, he carried it for you. _Fat lot of good that did when he was nowhere to be seen._ Hearing a scrabbling noise above you, you flinched and looked up. Hello, there was the witch, red hair tumbling and her mouth twisted into an unlovely sneer. Her hand raised, bright light flashing out of it and blasting into your face.

Sam came barreling around the corner of the one story house, his gun out, long hair flying. He took aimed and fired at the witch, hitting her in the chest and causing her to tumble to the ground with a scream. Dean came out of the back door at that moment, both brothers looking around quickly before Dean stooped to check the fallen woman for a pulse. “Dead. We need to get out of here, now, that gunshot is gonna attract attention.”

 

_Dean and Sam_

“Agreed. Where's Y/N?” Sam asked as he thumbed the safety on his gun then put it away. “She's not still in the house, is she?” Sam turned his head quickly at the sound that came from behind two large garbage cans. “Y/N? Is that you?” Cautiously he moved one of the cans out and away. His pretty eyes grew as round as they ever did at the sight that greeted him. “Dean!”

“What did she do now?” Dean was working himself up into irritation as he strode over to Sam. His next remark died on his lips as he stood gaping down at what had captured his brother's attention.

There were Y/N's clothes – jeans, boots with striped socks still in them, bits of lace that Dean's mind cataloged as _panties and a bra (lacy, blue)_ , and a pale green sweatshirt. However, Y/N was not wearing those clothes. Instead, a cat sat blinking up at them. A largish cat, with wide blue eyes and long, fluffy fur of black, orange, and white. “Oh shit. No way. There is no way that's Y/N.” The cat's mouth opened in a triangle and a very loud “MMMIIIIIIIIII” sound came out. In reply, Dean sneezed violently.

 

_You_

You were dizzy for a moment, completely disoriented. You were covered in something soft and fuzzy and sort of greenish, though the color was off. The world was very loud, full of so many sounds. The gunshot made you jump and cry out in fear. That was definitely _not_ your voice or any word you had just spoken, however. _What the actual fuck._ You shook your head and tried to stand, promptly falling over because everything was wrong! Your balance was off, you were crouching on the ground, there was something on your back or butt moving around _what the hell_ and then you heard Dean and Sam.

You managed to sit upright just as a large dark green object (Garbage can? It smelled like one, whew it smelled awful now that you thought about it) moved out of the way and you gaped up at Sam. Like UP UP UP at Sam, not the usual 'Sam is giant' but as if Sam actually had been turned into a GIANT. “Y/N? Is that you?” His words were loud even though you didn't think he was shouting. “Dean!”

“What did she do now?” You heard the distinctive sound of the older Winchester's boots tromping towards you and swiveled your head to look his way. He was a giant too! _What did that witch do to me?_ “Oh shit. No way. There is no way that's Y/N.”

 

_Now_

You sat in Sam's lap in the Impala. Dean had been bitching for at least an hour and kept trying to swat you into the back seat, but you were getting the hang of the four-legs-and-a-tail thing. You were beginning to feel proud about your tail too, it was long and very fluffy and waved so elegantly. Thinking about your wonderful tail and pretty fur made you start to purr. That was so freakin  weird. You weren't even sure _how_ to stop purring. Sam's huge hand gently stroked your head, sleeking down your neck in comforting caresses.

“With any luck, this spell will wear off,” Sam was saying. “We can pick up some allergy medication for you and some supplies for Y/N and just.. wait it out.” You weren't very happy with that line of reasoning but it's not like you had any store of knowledge to break spells. “We can call Bobby too, see if he has any ideas for spell breaking.” You made a noise that meant to convey agreement, warm and content in Sam's lap, your claws kneading lightly into the denim covering his thighs. Dean sneezed again, rubbed furiously at his nose with the back of his hand and glared at you. _What, it's not my fault you gigantic jackass_. You muttered this as series of grumbled meows and narrowed your eyes at Dean.

“Did you see that? Do you see how she's looking at me Sam? You better not piss in Baby, Y/N, or so help me I'm dumping your furry butt at the pound.” Sam immediately begin to protest but you were a big girl. Kitty. Whatever. You could handle _Dean Frikkin Winchester on your own, thanks._ You stood and arched your back, the fur along your back rising menacingly and your tail puffing out in a most intimidating fashion (you were sure). You glared at Dean and opened your mouth to show off your mighty fangs, giving an evil hiss. You weren't aware of shooting 18 sharp talons into poor Sam's legs until he jumped, yelled, and grabbed you up with both hands.

“Fuck's sake Dean stop aggravating her!” “I'm not aggravating her, she's aggravating me!” You ignored the argument to try to look both dignified and threatening while weighing twelve pounds and dangling mid-air. You were sorry about hurting Sam though. It was Dean's fault that Sam had gotten hurt. Stupid Dean. You swatted at his stupid arm, though without any claws out. _Really you hadn't realized what a dangerous creature you were as a cat. You'd have to mind those lethal daggers of death you now sported._ “Hey. That's enough.” Sam gave you a little shake, interrupting your thoughts on your own magnificence _(that wasn't really something you ever did, was it a feline thing? It was all true of course, you were lovely and deadly but)_ , and turned you to face him. “I know you're in there, Y/N. We'll get this taken care of as soon as we can but we need for you to chill, all right? Stop fussing with Dean and just relax. He's not going to dump you anywhere and we all know it.” Sam might not be able to make out what Dean was muttering under his breath “Oh yeah, we'll see about that,” but you could hear him very well. You reached out and put one fluffy white foot on Sam's mouth. That at least made Dean snort out a laugh as Sam gently removed your paw. “Thanks for that, I need more cat fur in my diet. Settle down okay? That's a good kitty.”

You gave him a scathing look as his set your down in his lap, and turned to flick your tail straight up, irritated, jerking it back and forth in a clear declaration of your disdain for his _good kitty._ “I'd appreciate it if you could keep your ass out of my face.” You jumped up on to the dashboard, making sure to dig your back claws into Sam's jean for that remark. “Ow! Dammit Y/N!” You ignored Sam and peered out of the front window. The sun was still up, though it was headed towards evening, and the dash was pleasantly warmed. You stretched out with your back against the glass, sprawling on your side with your tail hanging over the air vent, swishing gently. The warmth of the sun and the purring rumble of the Impala eased you into a doze, one that only lifted slightly when the brothers spoke or the music on the radio was too loud.

Dean pulled off into the next town on the highway, stopping at a Mal-Mart to let Sam go in for allergy medication and cat supplies. Dean remained in the car with you, leaning back and eyeing you suspiciously. You blinked at him calmly with your big blue eyes. He should feel honored, really. “Look, I know this isn't your fault. We'll get it sorted out, just.. we're not really a pet family you know? Hunters don't usually keep pets.” You raised your eyebrows (lovely white whiskers) to convey what you felt about that idea. “Yeah yeah, you're not really a pet but you know what you mean.” Dean's attention wandered to something outside of the car, behind you, and he leaned forward. “Hey --”

An ear-splitting bark sounded right at your back and your body moved with no instruction on your part, hind quarters and tail levitating and body twisting so that you landed on the passenger seat facing the rolled-down window. A large dog stood right at the door, having jumped up on his high legs to bark at you in that terrifying fashion. You hadn't even thought about it. Apparently being turned into a cat bestowed some sense of auto-pilot or instinct. You hissed, ears flattening, and lashed out with a lightning fast rake of your claws to that stupid dog's nose. _How dare he try to frighten you, his superior in every way?_ The dog shrieked and his face was gone from the window as Dean grabbed you and pulled you back into his lap.

“Whoa there princess, are you all right? I won't let anything happen to you.” Dean tucked you close under one arm, and he didn't even bitch when he sneezed. You were growling with your ears still flat as you watched the sidewalk for any sign of the canine. “Good aim you have there, Y/N. Let's clean the blood off.” You blinked up at Dean then down to your hand. Paw. _Whatever._ Sure enough the pristine white fur was showing bloody red. _Ha! Your claws were mighty indeed._ The satisfied purr that erupted from you was rightly proud. Dean laughed softly and fished out a napkin from under his seat and used it to wipe at your paw. “Okay Tiger Lily, you're a badass all right. A pint sized badass, but a badass. Try to control your blood lust and leave the dumb animals alone. It's not a fair fight with your smart brain.” He had wiped your paw as clean as he could and was petting you as he spoke, large hand rubbing between your ears then scratching you lighting under your chin and against your fluffy white throat.

Sam was quite surprised when he returned a few moments later to find you curled up in Dean's lap, both of you with your eyes closed as you listened to the radio. “Hey guys, okay. Allergy meds and some water for Dean.” He shut the car door after seating himself and dug both items out of the bag he carried, passing them to his brother. “All kinds of things for Y/N. Uh, I think we'd best start with this.. we want people to know that you belong with someone and aren't a stray.” You noted his careful use of the term “with someone” rather than “to someone” as Sam produced a pink collar set with small rhinestones. You stood up in Dean's lap and leaned closer to him and further away from that offensive thing. “I know, I know, but it's for your own protection Y/N. I think you'll be safer with it and we need to do everything you can to keep you safe right now. Please?” Dean was petting you gently again and when you gazed back at him, he shrugged. Sam was giving you what had to be the best puppy dog eyes expression you had ever seen, his forehead wrinkled earnestly and a charming little smile making his dimples appear. _Dammit_. Reluctantly you moved forward to Sam and let him fasten the collar around your neck while Dean related your victory over the dog that had dared to accost you.

“Another reason to keep you as safe as possible. You're a tiny thing, Y/N. A large dog could really hurt you.” Sam was developing the irritating habit of lifting you by wrapping his hands around your torso, just behind you arms. Front legs. _Whatever_. - then holding you up so you were looking at him face to face. You felt it was just a little too undignified. Your tail was switching from side to side as you told Sam _I appreciate that you are making a point and being serious, but you really need to stop just manhandling me all over the place_. The sounds you made were closer to trills and long sing-song meows and Sam just sighed and grinned at you, adoration in his hazel eyes. _Great. That was how you gained Sam Sexgod Winchester's undivided attention – turn into a freakin cat._ You'd have to get that printed out on cards to hand out to girls in bars.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader is still a feline and meets the legendary Bobby Singer, and Dean screams like a school girl.

Y/N = your name      Y/E/C = your eye color   Y/H/C = your hair color

It had taken two days to roll into Sioux Falls, South Dakota.  During those days it had been established that you, while currently trapped as a gorgeous long-haired calico cat, would only use the litter box if the Winchester Bros. kept their mouths shut about it. After the third time you had flipped over the bowl of dry cat food, then had dragged the bowl of canned cat food into the bathroom and sat on the toilet tank, flushing it repeatedly, for them to get the hint that cat food of any sort was unacceptable. You'd accept grilled chicken breasts and the occasional hamburger patty, all chopped and presented properly.

"Was Y/N always this much of a pain in the ass or is it just the cat thing?" Dean was talking to his brother, but he was looking at your furry self stretched across Sam's lap and pretending to doze. "I think I'd rather deal with a human smartass than this feline one."  You opened one sly blue eye and gave him your best dragon look, long fluffy tail twitching irritably."Yeah you heard me, Tiger Lily.  Once you have hands again there'll be no excuse for you to be waited on hand and foot. Or for you to sprawl all over Sammy -- unless you like it." He leered at you, clearly pleased with himself.

"Very funny, Dean. So mature." You marveled at the glory that was Sam Winchester's Bitchface (patent pending). For such a pretty man he surely could make some sour faces. "Don't think I didn't see you picking Y/N up and carrying her around when we were packing to leave the hotel this morning." It was true. Dean was allergic to cats, as his steady intake of little pink allergy pills attested, but for someone who swore he didn't like cats and was only tolerating you "because it was you," he snuck in a fair amount of petting and chin scratching. You'd even crept into his lap when he was busy watching Die Hard and he hadn't noticed.

Dean's dazzling rejoinder was "Pffft, whatever" and turning up the radio. You shook your head and put your ears back. You were actually pretty much a fan of AC/DC but not at the current volume. Finally you abandoned the luxury of Sam's attention and sprawled out on the back seat.

*******************

Bobby Singer's place turned out to be some kind of junk yard/automotive graveyard.  You hopped out of the car when Sam opened his door, dodging those ginormous booted feet, and your attention was drawn immediately to large weedy patch that ran along side the wooden house.  It wasn't just the breeze stirring the long grasses. Your sharp senses told you a story of pattering feet and a rapidly beating heart, of faint squeaks and the even fainter sound of munching. You were super pissed when Sam bent and scooped you up in his large hands. "C'mon, Y/N. You'll like Bobby."

You did like the older hunter, once you were all inside and comfortably shabby house and introductions had been made. You could tell Bobby thought it was fairly absurd to be addressing a big fluffy kitty as he would a person, but the whole situation was absurd. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but I haven't been able to find anything that would break this kind of spell early aside from the witch that cast it releasing it. The boys have told me that's not possible so you'll just have to wait it out." You were sitting on a table beside the older man's chair, regarding him evenly which he clearly found disconcerting.. which was why you continued to do it. You weighed his words, deciding that he was probably correct, and chirped at Bobby in a companionable way. Then you hopped down, lovely tail flirting with the air, and wandered off to explore the house.

You could hear the Winchesters and Bobby discussing some other case, something about a shop that was selling cursed objects and the best way for them to go about gathering up and securing all the things that had been sold. Interesting, and had you been your usual self you'd have had dozens of questions ( _What kind of items? What kind of curses? How did you find out about them? How to you remove the curses? How can you lock down the items?_ ) but as a cat, it was the dark corners and the dusty spaces under bookshelves and beds that had your interest. It didn't take you long to locate a series of mouse holes chewed through the baseboards. Some were old and carried only the faintest scent of mouse. You were ignoring the way that scent made you salivate. A newer one held more promise and you settled down to wait, unmoving, as fearsome and patient as a panther in its jungle home.

Two hours later and Bobby had made supper. He and the brothers were gathering around the table, Sam looking around for you before he sat down. "I wonder where Y/N has gone. She couldn't have gotten outside, could she Bobby?" He frowned and paused in unfolding his napkin, undecided as to whether he should go and look for you or not.

"Nah I don't think so. The only clear to the outside right now is the kitchen window and we'd have seen her if she went out that way. She's probably found a place to take a nap." Bobby served himself a plateful of something involving beans, beef, onions and some dubious vegetables before he eyed Dean. "You found Y/N in that bookstore if I recall correctly. That was what, a month ago? Six weeks? How's that working out?"

Dean looked startled. "Has it been that long? I mean it's fine. We still don't know exactly why the demons were after here or where they were coming from, so she's safer with us." That last bit was the current party line whenever the subject of your continued travels with the brothers was mentioned. _She's safer with us_. "It's convenient sometimes to have someone else to field calls or do extra research or whatever. Y/N's learning to shoot and not doing too badly at it. I dunno man ask Sammy. She's his bed buddy." Dean gave that shit eating grin of his, lobbing the potentially hot question to his innocent brother.

"Whoa whoa whoa, it's not like that," Sam protested immediately, lifting his hands defensively as Bobby turned an all-too-bland stare at Sam. "Dean is a child and won't share a bed. Y/N and I just share a flat place to sleep, she rolls up in her own blanket. It's perfectly innocent." He couldn't stop his face from flushing pink though, remembering how nice it was to wake up with someone warm on the other side of the bed, your soft breathing, the way your hair smelled. He would never admit how much he liked it on cold mornings when you scooted over close to him in your blanket burrito, burrowing up against him and winding up sharing his pillow more often than not. He always moved over before you were fully awake to avoid any awkwardness, but he was beginning to treasure these little moments with you. "She's a nice girl, lady, person. It's not like that."

"She's a nice lady person?? Smooth af, Sammy boy, smooth af." Dean was grinning broadly now. He had no idea if his brother had any sort of ideas other than friendship regarding their ~~luggage~~ companion, but he wasn't about to miss an opportunity to tease him anyway. "I wonder what she AAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Dean leaped to his feet, his face horrified, hands brushing frantically down his body. "Where did it go? You little brat I will kick your furry ass for this!" You danced out of his way easily, having anticipated (with great joy) Dean's reaction to having a live mouse dropped into his lap.

"What the fuck, Dean?" Sam had leapt to his feet as well when Dean let out that high pitched wail. You scooted right over and climbed Sam Winchester like a tree, digging your claws into his jeans and on up onto his back. Sam's yelps of pain replaced Dean's shrieking as you ascended to his shoulders and clung there, steadying yourself by anchoring your claws into both of his shirts. "What the fuck Y/N, that hurts!" Bobby Singer, grizzled veteran of years of hunting and heartbreak, sat there laughing so hard tears rolled down his cheeks.

********

Dean was the first one awake in the morning. Since he couldn't smell coffee, he grudgingly pulled himself out of bed and headed downstairs, tugging a black t-shirt over his head.  He's seen you sleeping on the couch during his usual middle of the night ramblings. As he passed the couch he glanced at it, attention focused on the kitchen and waiting coffee pot. Then his brain processed what he had actually seen and whirled around.

It wasn't a fluffy calico cat curled up on the couch. That was definitely a sleeping human. A sleeping human girl. A _naked_ sleeping human girl. Fortunately for all involved you were sleeping turned into the back of the couch, probably because it was so cool. Dean was looking at nice legs, a _very_ nice ass, and the smooth line of your back and shoulders. He stood there for at least two solid minutes, frozen with indecision. _How am I supposed to handle this? The lore books don't teach you that kind of thing. Ok Dean, think. What would Sammy do?_ Dean went back to the room he was staying in as quietly as he could, returning with the comforter from his bed.  This he gingerly spread over your sleeping form, resolutely not allowing his gaze to linger on the glimpse of soft belly and the curve of breast he could see under your drawn-up arms and legs. Then he retreated into the kitchen to start coffee and breakfast, adjusting the sudden uncomfortable fit of his boxer briefs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Note: While my stories take place pretty much in canon SPN, characters I want to be alive will be alive and characters I want to be dead will be dead. Obviously I do not own or have any rights to the Supernatural characters or universe. I just play there.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean thinks he is super funny (again) and Kissing Occurs.

Y/N = your name Y/H/C = your hair color Y/E/C = your eye color

 

“You can kiss my fancy ass, Dean Winchester!”

 

_Earlier in the day_

You were recovering nicely from your feline experience. You were even glad that Sam had sneaked a few pictures of you in all your furry glory. You really had been a very lovely cat. Glancing at your fingernails, you had a moment of longing for the deadly claws you had wielded so skillfully. Oh well. Maybe you would actually pay attention to your nails now, at least a bit. They'd never live up to your former claws of doom, but with some buffing and shaping perhaps you could recapture some of the lost splendor.

“I'm telling you, Bobby, you may have your house sewn up tight against ghosts or demons or what have you, but the mice are having a field day. There's no way you can hope to salt all those holes, or whatever you need to do to make them secure.” You were on day three of this particular argument with the old hunter, conducted as you took a turn washing dishes and Bobby cooked. “If you pick up some barn cats, and I'm sure someone around here has barn cats and can spare you a few, they'd get this place cleaned up. A few barn cats outside, one really good mouser with house privileges, and no more mice. Think of all your old books! Can you really afford to let all these one-of-a-kind books become nesting material for mice?” You were particularly pleased with that point, seeing Bobby scowl (even more than usual!) under his ubiquitous baseball cap.

“I'll think about it,” was his grudging reply. “I ain't makin' any promises. Maybe I could just borrow a couple of cats to get the house cleaned up.” _Ha, sucker! Nobody ever 'borrows' cats, they move in and take over_. Outwardly you just nodded pleasantly and finished the last of the dishes, stacking them in the drying rack. “Supper's just about ready if you want to go let the boys know.” Bobby referred to Dean and Sam as the boys, almost without fail, though they were both taller and bigger than Bobby himself now. You dried your hands off by scrubbing them down your jeans then through your Y/H/C hair, sort of prodding it into looking like a hair style and not a hay stack.

You found the Winchesters attending to Baby, Dean under the hood and Sam going over the weapons cache in the trunk of the Impala. You'd started to refer to the car as Baby in the last weeks, to Dean's approval and Sam's amusement. But really, Dean loved that car so much, and didn't ships get names? It was the same kind of thing. “Hey guys. Bobby says supper's ready, so come on. I am not on dish duty this evening, by the way.” You pointed at Dean as his head emerged from under the hood, eyes bright at the thought of food. “Your turn to clean up the kitchen and dishes, Deanie.” Sam snorted and closed the trunk.

“Hey! I told you not to call me Deanie,” Dean grumped. Of _course_ you only did it to annoy him. He seemed to be physically unable to call you by your actual name, so you were trying out nicknames to find one that suited your sense of humor while making Dean pissy. “You didn't help with the cooking did you, Tiger Lily? I don't want to get sick.” You screwed your face up and waggled your head at him in a 'neener neener' kind of way. It was the same kind of face you and your brother had made when you were teasing each other or squabbling.

“I made sure to give you an extra portion of poison and glass, _Deanie_ ,” you replied as you waited juuuust long enough for Dean to almost reach the back door before you let it swing shut in his face. _Ha, should have moved faster._ You were the one who moved fast though, hustling right along to get to the kitchen table and seated before Dean could attempt any kind of retribution. Sam was holding your chair out, earning a smile from you though you were so accustomed to him giving that little courtesy that you didn't really register it. Bobby did, however, his sharp eyes watching you with interest as he piled mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“What did you boys decide to do about that phone call?” asked Bobby, as the four of you dished up potatoes, gravy, beans, and something that resembled meatloaf (though your mom had never poured canned chili in to her recipe). “From what you told me it sounds like a werewolf.” Your Y/E/C eyes went wide and round, looking at the three hunters in turn. You couldn't ask any questions at the moment, since you had a mouth full of mashed potatoes.. you probably looked like a startled chipmunk.

“Yeah, ah, we think it's a werewolf.” Sam sounded oddly hesitant, glancing at you as he spoke. “Dean and I are going to head out after supper so we'll have plenty of time to scout around tomorrow before nightfall.” Dean made a sound that was most likely intended to convey assent and not to sound like he was grunting around the meatloaf in his mouth. Dean tended to resemble a squirrel when he ate; a squirrel that suspected something was going to grab his food at any moment, thus he needed to stuff his cheeks full. “Um, Y/N, you probably should stay here with Bobby. I mean, he can keep you safe from any demons that might still be after you and werewolves are tricky to handle.”

You regarded Sam with astonishment. Had he thought you, sane, reasonable, normal human being you, might yearn for a chance to get your face chewed off by a fucking werewolf? Surely he knew that you were not chomping at the bit to face anything with claws and fangs. Then, as you swallowed your food, it dawned on you that maybe Sam thought you would just automatically assume you'd be tagging along with him and his brother as you'd been doing the previous weeks.

“Good call. I'm sure I'll be able to contain my sorrow at not, you know, having a giant monster wolf guy chasing me around to make me into a midnight snack.” You looked over at Dean, who snorted, then busted out into a full-out laugh, throwing his head back and slapping his thigh. “What is it now, Deanie?” Dean leaned forward and grinned at you, that well-pleased-to-be-Dean-Winchester grin you had learned signaled that he was about to be super annoying/hilarious in his own mind.

“Be a good girl for Bobby and have fun at hunter daycare, princess!” Dean laughed even harder as your mouth fell open and unintelligible, indignant sounds emerged. He ducked the wadded up napkin Bobby threw at him and slid out of his chair.

“You can kiss my fancy ass, Dean Winchester!” you shouted at his retreating back. (“Bare it and we'll share it!” was Dean's rejoinder.) Sam let out a bark of laughter, his eyes lighting up and lethal amounts of dimples flashing in his sudden humor. _Thank you for the good work you did the day you created Sam Winchester, Lord_. “Man. Try to remember to hide a pork chop in Dean's clothes before you go out tomorrow night Sam. Make things a little more interesting.” He just shook his head at you, grinning. Neither one of you noticed that his hand had covered yours and still rested there. Bobby, however, had noticed. Bobby noticed everything even if he didn't remark on it.

 

_Later_

You were not going to be all sad and forlorn as the guys left on their hunt. You were a big tough girl, you could tie your own sandals and everything. Still it was harder than you'd care to admit to watch Sam and Dean pack up their duffles and haul them out to the Impala. You and Dean had exchanged a few taunts as he carried things outside, culminating in his grabbing your head and scrubbing his knuckles across your scalp while you flailed and tried to break loose. It was much easier to do that then to do the cliché, be careful, blah blah, routine. Sam loitered in the living room until Dean had left before coming to stand beside you.

“So, we'll call and check on you and let you know how things are going. You'll be fine here with Bobby, Y/N.” Sam was looking down at you earnestly, his brows doing that furrow thing and his long hair sliding forwards into his eyes. “He knows a lot and he has tons of interesting books. You can learn a lot of stuff from Bobby.” Suddenly the air between you was filled with tension, taking you off guard. Your head tilted to the side as you studied Sam's face (which surely was not a hardship in the least), watching as a smudge of pink rose across the cut of his cheekbones. _That's so weird. It's never awkward between us._

“Be careful. Don't let the werewolf chew on you, you're way too pretty to be a chew toy.” Now you were blushing from head to toe because you could all too easily imagine using Sam Winchester as your own personal chew toy. “Sooo... do we high five, or fist bump, or do that clumsy side hug thing?” You had broken into a lop sided grin, the absurdity of this awkward feeling the two of you seemed to share almost overcoming the heat that was flooding through you. You extended your hand into a bro-fist/side hug gesture, to let Sam choose.

Instead, Sam laughed and pulled you into a hug. Not the side hug of friendship and doom, but a real hug, his long arms wrapping you up and pulling you solidly against his chest. _Okay, this was happening._ (Achievement Get: Hug a Sam for Reals.) You hands rested lightly against the lapels of his jacket as your eyes studied his expression. _Was this happening? Or were you going to wake up from a meatloaf coma and find it was just a dream?_ Sam's face had gone serious, his hazel eyes looking into yours then lowering to look at your mouth as you caught your bottom lip in your teeth. “Sam?” You barely breathed out his name as you lifted on your toes, leaning into him and tilting your face up.

Then his hands were sliding up your back, getting all up in your hair and his mouth was on yours, thin lips firm and pressing pleasantly against your gasp of surprise, _mmmph_. His tongue traced over your parted lips then slid inside your mouth, hot and seeking, tasting every bit of you as he pulled your face up to meet his. Your fingers were tangled in his jacket, hips pressed against Sam's thighs, his mouth swallowing the soft sounds you were unaware of making. One of your hands finally did what it had wanted to for weeks, releasing his jacket to thread your fingers into that soft brown hair and _oh_ it was just as lovely as you had imagined. One of Sam's hands slid to your waist, then the small of your back, holding you tighter against him. Your mouths were sealed together, the slide of his tongue against yours making your knees weak _damnation this boy can kiss_ and though you were running out of air, _fuck it, who needed to breathe?_ Then you heard, faintly, over the pounding of your heart, Dean calling for “Sammy!”

Sam's mouth left yours with a gasp, his fingers flexing into your hair and against your ass (where his hand had magically alighted.) You stared up at him, eyes gone glassy and your face flushed, your lips pink and hair now a mess. Sam looked pretty much the same, so disheveled and mussed and clearly enthralled with you, and you had that urge to climb him like a tree again. “Um, I guess I better get going.” He stepped away, releasing you from the best first kiss you had ever had in your life, absently adjusting his coat over his belt and the hardness you'd felt against your stomach. “I'll call you later?” He stumbled back towards the door, knocking a chair to the side and smiling almost bashfully as he reached back for the door.

“Yeah you'd better. We have stuff to talk about.” One of your hands made a circling gesture. “You know. Stuff.” Your other hand was against your flushed cheek, fingers against your mouth and the smile that spread where you could still feel Sam's mouth on your own. You both grinned at each other, faces rosy with color, as he managed to get through the door without hurting himself. You followed, giving a wave to both brothers before shutting the door and leaning your back against it. Hot damn. Police, fireman, yeah it was time for cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I do not own Supernatural or the characters. I just play in the universe.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader gets to play pretend, Dean gets to be an annoying older brother, and Sam wishes his jeans weren't so tight.

Y/N  = your name  Y/L/N = your last name  Y/E/C = your eye color  Y/H/C = your hair color  


"I guess I'll have to give you a B+ for today, Y/N." Bobby Singer gave you a (surprisingly) sweet smile as the two of you stood breaking down handguns, stripping them down to clean them. "I have to take some points of for you falling on your ass when you shot that AR-15, and a few more for not knowing how many times you have to stab an okami to kill it." You huffed a breath out, stirring your Y/H/C bangs from out of your eyes.

"Hey at least I knew what you have to have to kill one. How -do- you get a Shinto priest to bless a bamboo knife anyway? Do they have some kind of Holy Blessing of the Kitchenware holiday?" You were only half teasing the veteran hunter. Bobby really did know his business ("Which no one pays me for, by the way.") While he had been teaching you how to break down, clean, oil, and put together your .38, a shot gun, and a .9mm, the two of you had talked about the Big Monster List of what is real and what is not and how to kill it. Sam Winchester was a good teacher, but it was undeniable that Bobby's years of experience conveyed more to you and you learned more from his reminiscences than from any printout Sam could find for you to study.

"Quite a few holy men from various religions know what is really out there in the dark, girl. They need to protect their people after all." He grunted approval at the state of the .9mm once you presented it to him for inspection. "Even the ones that ain't got a clue that monsters are real can usually be convinced pretty damned quick if you drag in a chewed up member of their flock." You wrinkled your nose at that idea. While the Winchesters had done their best to keep you away from chewed on dead bodies, you'd seen a couple and ew. Gross. You were never ever going to volunteer to go morgue-crawling with smokin' hot Sam or adorable Dean.

"That's good to know I guess. Though, right, quite a few monsters don't really give a damn about holy ground. That's kind of disappointing." You absently wiped the back of your hand across your forehead, intending to smooth your hair back but smearing gun oil across your skin instead. ."Bleah. Hey look Bobby, I'm going to grab a shower then I'll work on cataloging the next shelf in your living room, okay? Leftovers for supper?" That was part of both your study and the way you were paying Bobby back for his hospitality: You were listing and indexing all his esoteric lore books so they'd be easier to use. You included dusting and cleaning the shelves as a bonus since you preferred to breath air that was as dust-free as possible. Bobby nodded as his phone began to ring and you headed up the stairs towards the promise of hot water and frothy soapy bubbles.

 

_Sam and Dean_

Sam sat in his usual place, the passenger's seat in the Impala, turned slightly towards the open window. He squinted into the golden afternoon sunlight, not really seeing the fenced in fields of crops of the stretches of woods that slid past his view. He was thinking about Y/N and the kiss that he'd shared with her before leaving on this hunt. Sam had thought about that kiss quite a bit before it happening, usually when he was convincing himself that he had no business thinking of her that way. They were friends, becoming very good friends in fact, and Sam didn't want to risk that. Not to mention that most nights on the road, he shared a platonic bed with you. _Well. Not entirely platonic, my thoughts aren't platonic when she's lying there asleep beside me curled up and warm and making those little sounds in her sleep._ Sam shook his head and tried to concentrate on what his brother was saying, but Dean was singing along to "Ramblin' Man" without a care in the world that he was off-key.  _Not when she comes out of the bathroom in her pajamas rubbing at her hair and all flushed from a hot shower. I bet her face would flush that color when I ran my hands over her shoulders, down to her breasts. Ngghh this was not a good train of thought._ Sam adjusted himself through his jeans, not particularly caring if Dean knew what he was doing or not since both of them had to make that sort of movement from time to time and there was no point in being embarrassed about it. He felt that tingle in his hips, sensation moving inwards towards his dick as it twitched, boxer briefs and jeans confining the movement. _Mmmm no not going to think about Y/N and the lacy bits of undergarments I'd seen when we did laundry together, I am not going to imagine the hot pink bikini panties and how they'd ride on her hips, how the color would look against her skin and her skin would be so soft and heated.. goddammit._ Slow as warm honey pouring Sam felt his cock stiffen to full attention, way beyond distracting himself now and it took more than simple sleight-of-hand, nobody-notice-what-I'm-doing adjustments to get any sort of comfort. He had to lean back and use both hands to get his dick straight under his jeans, curving over towards his pocket and it would be so fucking easy to just jack himself right there through the pockets of his jeans but that would completely violate bro-code. He was suddenly aware that Dean was no longer singing but speaking to him.

".. Rob. Robert. Robere. Lover boy." Sam jumped and looked at Dean, a bit wild-eyed. "There you are, dude, where have your thoughts been? I'm guessing somewhere in boner land by the way you're squirming." Dean laughed at the bitchface Sam was throwing; _that boy had bitchface game._ "Nah man it's all good. I was just wondering who was starring in your own personal Casa Erotica series. Maybe that waitress at the diner at lunch? The chick at the Gas n' Sip?" Dean was just screwing with his brother now. He'd seen the doe eyes Sam cast towards their princess when she wasn't looking. It was just part of the game to get Sammy to admit it.

“Just leave it alone, Dean,” Sam snapped. He knew better, of course. That sort of answer would just make Dean poke at him all the more but Sam was determined to keep this secret as long as possible. From Dean, from Y/N, hell from himself if he could have managed it but that bird had flown weeks ago. “It's nothing you need to worry about.” At least fussing with his brother was clearing his head; hopefully his eager cock would ease back from the hardness that demanded all of his attention.

“Ah I'm just messin' with you Sammy. “ Dean sent his brother an appraising look. “We only meet girls in places that like, and of course morgues, hospitals, crime scenes.. not exactly prime romantic hunting grounds. Except Tiger Lily.” Dean was deliberately offhanded as he pronounced Y/N's current nickname, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. He was perfectly aware of Sam sitting up straighter and blanking his face in that _I'm cool I'm totally cool what_ expression that had never fooled Dean for a minute. “She' _s_ pretty cute, don't you think? Aside from all the annoying crap and thinking she's funny all the time _(_ blithely unaware that he had just described himself). She's got a nice shape to her too, did you notice those jeans with the rips in the knees? They fit her ass juuust right. I could definitely see myself bending her right over --”

“That's enough Dean!” Sam was pissed, not just bitchy or snappy or sassy or any of the other drama queen moods he cycled through on a daily basis. Dean heard real anger in Sam's words and gave a big wide satisfied grin. “Ahhh that's what I thought, Sammy. You're a sucker for a girl with a big vocabulary. Now then, time for big brother to play 20 questions. Does she know about us?”

“Of course she knows us, Dean. What are you drinking?” Sam grabbed at the cup Dean had been dirnking out of but Dean moved it out of his reach.

“No I mean us, our history, our family. Why we're hunters.” His voice grew serious. :”About Mom and Dad, my visit downstairs, demonic seals, all that stuff?” Dean was pretty sure that Sam had told Y/N nothing about any of these things, because she hadn't fled shrieking into the night.

Sam huffed and crossed his arms, staring out at the darkening sky. “Well, no, Dean, I haven't told her all the things that will make her leave and never speak to us again. For one thing, we still need to keep her safe until we can figure out the spell those demons want to use to her to complete. For another, she's completely on her own. We can't just kick her out or run her off. It isn't safe.” Sam twisted in his seat, uncomfortable now from the conversation and not from the steadily ebbing hard on. “I don't want her to leave, okay? I like her, I like being around her. She's smart and tougher than you think. Hell maybe she can just, I don't know, be a researcher like Bobby and stay safe that way. She's really good at it and I know Bobby likes her a lot.” In his head, Sam had already built up that particularly scenario. Singer and Y/L/N, Researchers and Support Staff Extraordinaire. Y/N could stay with Bobby. The old hunter could use the company and he could teach her so many things. Y/N would be safe and she'd be doing something really important.. and he and Dean could circle back to visit every chance they could, so Sam would get to spend time with her and .. yeah.

“What exactly do you know about her, Sammy? Aside from the fact that she likes hash browns, has terrible taste in music, and steals all the blankets.”

 

_Singer Salvage Yard_

“Agent Wilson speaking.” You stood in Bobby's office area just off the kitchen, a towel wrapped around your wet hair, wearing a comfortable tank top and flowery pajama bottoms. “Agent Wheelis is out of town for meetings for the rest of the week. Is there some way I can be of assistance?” You were talking into one of the several labeled phones that lined the wall by Bobby's desk. He'd had you working on answering each phone correctly, with the correct amount of authority, and learning the lines and buzzwords that would let you help the hunters who called in their 'superior' in whatever agency or division they were pretending to be in the course of a hunt. “How was that?”

“Better. Next time say 'How can I be of assistance?' instead of asking. Don't ask if you can help it, tell them what you want them to do.” Bobby replied from his cell phone, from downstairs in the cellar. “I have a call coming in on this line. If any of those phones rings, do you best.”

“Aye aye, captain.” you replied as you hung the phone back on its receiver. You had been uncomfortable at the idea of parading around waving very fake, very illegal badges for the police or FBI or any other agency. You could play pretend over the phone though, no problem. You wandered into the kitchen and stood looking into the 'vintage' refrigerator. _I wonder what Bobby has against fresh fruits and vegetables? Or dairy products? I need to go shopping._ You were rummaging through the cabinets taking inventory when the older hunter came into the kitchen, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“That was another hunter, one you haven't met yet. Name of Garth. He needs a hand and he's fairly close by. You think you can stay here for a day or two while I go help him out?” Bobby was regarding you earnestly, face pinched in worry. Or just pinched. Bobby had that perma-scowl thing going. “The house is warded pretty well and you can handle a shot gun with no trouble at all.”

“Yeah Bobby I'll be fine. I'll need to go get some groceries tomorrow.” You lifted a hand in a gesture to forestall his protests. “I am sorry, Mr. Singer, but woman does not live by canned chili and beans alone. Are any of the cars in the yard drive-able?”

An hour later, Bobby was on the road and you had a set of keys to a disreputable old truck in your possession. You decided to wait to go shopping until tomorrow morning though. It was fully dark and you felt safer staying inside. You dutifully did the rounds and made sure all the doors and windows were latched and secured. You also pulled all the curtains closed as well as what blinds were present. Bobby hadn't minded when you cleaned things here or there and the guest room you were occupying (you and Sam, when he'd been here) really needed some work. That was something you could do to keep yourself busy and productive. You gathered what passed for cleaning supplies and your iPod and traipsed up the stairs, determined to do battle with ancient dust bunnies and to wash all the bedding and blankets you could lay your hands on. The rug needed a lot of attention too but that might have to wait until tomorrow.

Two hours after and that guest room had never looked so good, you were sure. You'd wound up dragging all of the furniture you could manage out into the hall, wrestling the mattresses out, and scrubbing down the damned walls. The ancient wallpaper hadn't fared super well – you might need to make a project of re-papering or painting this room – but this chamber, at least, was nearly dust free. You however looked like you'd been crawling through a chimney. Time for another shower before you went about making the bed up with fresh linens.

As you gathered together what you needed, lamenting that your favorite pajama set had gone from cheery pink and yellow to gray-brown, you heard your cell phone ring. _What the hell? Who the hell?_ You almost never got calls anymore, not since the burning bookstore fiasco that had brought the Winchesters into your life. _Was that the theme to the A-Team?_ “Hello?”

“Sup, princess, got a job for a band of mercenaries on the run for crimes they didn't commit?” You couldn't help it, you laughed. Dean sounded so stupid happy with himself and Dean's laughter was sneakily becoming one of your favorite things to hear. “Like the ringtone? I had a tough choice, A-Team or Star Wars.”

“You enormous doof. Yeah yeah, it was cute. I have no jobs for you unless you want to do the grocery shopping, but I don't want you to do that because I want some food that isn't canned or processed within an inch of its life.” As you said it, you winced. That was a weird way to put it. You continued on into the bathroom/ “I'm going to do some shopping tomorrow anyway. Soo, how's things? How is Sam? You didn't feed him to the werewolf did you?”

“Sam's fine.” On his end of the phone, Dean gave his brother an exaggerated thumbs-up. “It looks like we're going to be stuck here until tomorrow night, we haven't had any luck finding our furry little friend. Hey let me talk to Bobby a minute. He wasn't answering his house line.”

“That's because he's not here. He had to go on a hunting trip for a few days.” You had no idea in the world that you were echoing a famous line in the brother's history. “He had to go help someone named Garth. Um, try his second or third cell phone. I don't know which one he was carrying with him. I'm manning the special phones though.” You couldn't help but sound a little proud of that fact. You stopped sort of undressing for your shower while you were on the phone with Dean – it was just too weird.

“Are you going to be all right by yourself? Lock the doors, stay inside, and don't go to town alone.” Dean was in Dean, Protector of the Universe mode. You'd seen him in it before, and it was impressive, no doubt. It was bit less so over the phone. You could hear Sam's voice in the background. It sounded surprised and then as if he were firing a series of questions at Dean.

“Yes, Dean. I'm fine. Bobby cleared me on the shotgun and the .9mm. All the doors and windows are locked and warded and I even put down fresh salt lines. I've got the gun with me, I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'll go shopping in the morning. I'm too tired anyway, I just spent two hours hauling furniture and scrubbing out the dust of the ages from one of the guest bedrooms.”

You could hear Sam and Dean talking back and forth but the sound was muffled, as if Dean had covered the microphone in his phone with his hand or had pressed it to his shoulder. A minute later he was back. “Okay, that all sounds good. Just pay attention and stay inside, Tiger Lily. If you get too scared head down to the safe room in the basement and call us.”

“Yes, _Dad_ ,” you said, rolling your eyes as hard as you could to make sure your voice conveyed the maximum amount of sass. You spoke over his automatic “Hey you can call me Daddy anytime” with your sugary-sweet “Byyyeeee, Deanie, don't let the bedbugs bite.” You ended the call and then went about your much needed shower.

 

_Sam and Dean_

“Bobby left her alone? For a couple of days? What was he thinking?” Sam was up and moving, pacing around and kicking at chairs and table legs that got in his way in the motel room than he and Dean were sharing. (Decor: 70s fake Early Americana, all red white and blue, weird curved mirror with an eagle over it, etc.) “We left her with him so he could look after her!”

“You know Bobby's house is pretty safe, Sammy. And if he cleared her on the shotgun and a handgun then she'll be fine. She got enough sense to stay inside after dark. Even if she does go into town to shop, she'll be careful. It will be okay Sammy.”

“She wants to go into town??” Sam's fist slammed down into the table top, rocking the rickety thing. “I don't like this at all, Dean. We should go back or call someone to check on her.” He and Dean exchanged a long, considering look.

“There's an idea. Should we call him?I know he's busy and all but it would only take a minute for him to check on the princess.” Sam was nodding assent even as Dean dug out his phone and scrolled through his contact numbers.

 

(Pausing here because it''s getting too long. Continued tonight or tomorrow!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I do not own Supernatural, its characters, or its universe. I just play there!)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader is touched by an angel and Sam gets a little more green-eyed than usual.

Y/N = your name Y/E/C = your eye color

 

Shower finished, one of Sam's t-shirts you had stolen weeks ago serving as sleep clothes (since your pajamas were such a dusty mess), you peered at yourself in the old mirror. You had no idea why all humans seemed to make the same faces in the mirror but you did it too, opening your eyes wide, then your mouth, tilting your head back so that you could examine your molars. _Rwar I am a monster._ That was only funny when you forgot that there really were monsters, blah.

Opening the door, you flipped off the lights as you stepped into the hallway, rubbing at your wet hair with a thick towel. _At least now I can remake the bed with fresh sheets and I won't have to sleep in dust. This new conditioner is nice, it smells like some sort of flower. I should make something to eat, I wonder if I could make a cake from what's in the pantry?_ You thoughts bounced around from topic to topic aimlessly. You were warm, you were relaxed, you felt safe in Bobby Singer's house.

You were not alone.

“Y/N.” You froze in place, your heart giving a sudden painful lurch that seemed to pull you off balance with its intensity. Your name had just been spoken behind you, in a deep, gravelly male voice. There should definitely have not been a male voice or male _anything_ behind you. You were alone in the house.

With another painful lurch of your heart, you faced the stranger. He was at the near the end of the hall, between you and the guest room you were sharing with Sam Winchester _Jesus I wish Sam were here right now_. This is how your chain of thoughts went:

_I am not alone._

_I am supposed to be alone._

_The fuck is this guy._

_This house is warded against all kinds of things is he just a dude._

_The guns are in my room._

_Fuck me why didn't I take them into the bathroom._

_Because only crazy people needed guns in the shower and I am not crazy._

_Holy shit I am so screwed._

All that took maybe two seconds, during which time you stared at the intruder. He was a large man, six feet at least and broad shouldered. He wore a khaki trench coat over what appeared to be, in such a short time to look, a dark suit and dress shoes. You noted that his blue tie was flipped around backwards. He had dark hair that appeared to be heavily windblown. His eyes were strange, a blue so vivid you found it hard to look away once your gaze met his. The stranger's head tipped to the side, those blue blue eyes narrowing slightly. His mouth (full, pink) opened as if to speak when your brain finally caught up and kicked you into motion.

You turn and fled for the stairs. Towel abandoned, hands reaching out to grab the wall then the stair railing, you bolted down the stairs as your mind turned over and over on itself _what to do_? You were going too fast, your mind tried to tell your body, but your body was in full retreat and you were taking the steps down two then three at a time and three was really too far and then your foot went for a stair that just was not there and you were falling face-forward, the wooden floor at the bottom of the flight of stairs looming large and lethal in your future. _Ah, fuck me,_ was all you had time to think.

You flinched inward, trying to curl yourself up and protect yourself from the impact, eyes squeezed tight as you waited for the worst. You hit something, hard, head cracking into a solid surface hard enough for your head to bounce back and your vision to blur. It wasn't the floor you hit though, or the stairs. You felt no slap or crack of bones, your skin didn't catch on the angles of the steps and tear. Instead you had hit something that had apparated between you and the floor. Arms came around you, steadying your balance, hands gripping your upper arms tightly. It still hurt, and you'd still have bruises from slamming into that unyielding whatever, but nothing was broken. You opened your eyes painfully, blinking tears out of the way as you lifted a hand to your throbbing head. There was a face looking down at you impassively, the light from the fixture overhead shining golden off his dark hair. The face was lovely, finely chiseled, brows elegant as they lifted. There were those blue eyes again, bright as a gas flame. _Oh shit._

“Y/N.” The stranger repeated your name in that gravelly voice that was pitched so low it did funny things to your inside. “Be not afraid. I am here to watch over you.” _Okay so you had a concussion, maybe, or maybe you had knocked yourself into a coma_. “You are not in a coma Y/N.” The man let go of one of your arms and laid his fingers against your poor head, drawing them across your skin and somehow pulling the pain away. “You do not have a concussion either. Your heart rate is accelerated as is your breathing, but that will pass.”

“Who the hell are you?” you demanded, still in the stranger's grasp, blinking up at him with wide Y/E/C eyes. The man didn't quite laugh but one corner of his beautiful mouth twitched in amusement.

“That is not correct, and inappropriate. My name is Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord. The Winchester brothers asked me to come and check on your well being. They are unwilling to leave you alone and unsupervised.” He finally let go of your other arm, stepping back a pace to give you room to recover. Your head didn't hurt at all, which _was_ sort of a miracle. You could still feel the grip of his large hands on your biceps. _That's going to leave a mark._

“Oh,” was your eloquent reply. “I wasn't expecting.. you, or anyone else. Thanks?” That last word was something more like a question, but if this was an actual frikken angel of the Lord who had taken time to come and make sure you were all right, the least you can do was say thank you.

“Gratitude is unnecessary, Y/N. I checked the house and the surrounding area before I came inside. There is no danger. You are safe at the moment.” Castiel stood so still;it was very unsettling. You weren't entirely sure he was breathing. He was, absolutely breathtaking. You found yourself believing that this man in front of you was in fact an angel. But hadn't Sam said angels were dicks? _This Castiel scared me out of a year's growth_ (here those blazing blue peepers slid over to you, narrowing as his head tipped to the side.. _what the frik yo)_ _but he hadn't done anything actually rude or dickish. Unlike Dean, who made being a charming dick into an art form._

“Soo.. Angel of the Lord. Halo, wings, sword, smiting the wicked, all of that?” You backed over to the couch and settled down onto it, still keyed up and far too nervous yet to even consider going to bed. “Am I allowed to ask questions?”

 

_Sam and Dean_

Sam paused mid-bite, the fork holding some vegan pasta that he was trying to pretend was just delicious, ok, thanks very much Mr. Shoving Cow Into Your Face Dean. “Uh. Dean? Do you think we should have told Y/N that we asked Cas to check up on her? She's never met him. In fact she's never met any angel, which is mostly a positive thing but Cas can be.. erratic.”

Dean didn't bother to swallow the mouthful of frikken delicious burger that he was making out with.. it could only be called making it because of the loving glances he gave the sandwich, the way his fingers caressed the warm bun, the pornographic groans he emitted as he ate. Sam had learned to block out his brother's food-sex noises long ago. “Nah, it'll be fine. I mean it's not like Cas is going to hurt her. They'll probably get along just fine, two nerds in a pod. Or a pod-racer, haha.” Dean glowed with appreciation for his own nerd humor. “Even if he does startle her, she can't really hurt him. Maybe if she shoots him a couple times he'll learn to announce himself instead of sneaking up on people.”

Both Winchesters pondered that thought for a long moment. Castiel popping into existence out of nowhere, you alone in the house with loaded firearms. What could possible go wrong? Dean and Sam both reached for their phones at the same time.

 

_You_

The chirping of your phone alerting you to a text message made you jump. Your nerves were seriously rattled; you may have to locate what Bobby called 'hunter's helper' to get to sleep after all this. “I should check this,” you said to the unmoving, barely blinking celestial being that sat awkwardly across from you.

_Text from Sam: Hey, Y/N. Dean and I asked a friend of ours to stop by and make sure that you were okay. His names' Castiel, he's an angel, he tends to pop up without much warning._

_Text from Y/N: Gosh, Sam, what valuable information. Sure am glad you sent me this before I could, I don't know, get so scared that I fell down a flight of stairs or anything._

Sam winced as he read your reply. He could read the sarcasm in every character, imagine the sweet lilt to your voice had you spoken the words. The lilt that was just one step removed from calling someone – usually his brother – dumbass. “Ouch. I take it that Cas has already arrived at Bobby's and yep, just showed up magically.”

Dean winced at that. Not that he was afraid of you, of course, not precisely afraid.. but Dean Winchester was a man who understood women very well and he understood their wrath. He liked the tease the princess, as he referred to her in his own head, to the point of real anger but not past it because tiny woman pissiness was so funny. Tiny woman anger was not very amusing, at all.

“Well, Sammy, since you're the one that wants to move into boyfriend territory, I say this one is yours to handle.” Dean's smile was beatific. He had solved the problem of pissy you and teased his brother more than adequately in the process. “Imma go find some beers.” He wadded up trash from his burger and fries and tossed them into the wastebasket on his way out the door, ignoring Sam's Level 2 bitchface.

 _Text from Sam: Sorry about that, Y/N. We're sort of used to Cas jumping in and out of thin air. Did you actually fall down the stairs? Are you hurt?_  
  
_Text from you: Yes, I actually fell down the stairs. No, I'm not really hurt thanks to Castiel. Just some bruises. He isn't much softer than the floor._

Sam immediately had an image of Cas clutching at you violently then sweeping you up in his arms, full on Rhett Butler, and you swooning with gratitude. That image did not sit well with Sam. At all. He texted back with great speed, hunched over his phone, his fingers moving over the teeny keys with surprising grace.

_Text from Sam: I'm really sorry about not telling you earlier. Maybe take some ibuprofen before you go to bed, to help with the bruises. It's getting pretty late so probably you should take some now. Cas won't bother you. He'll just hang out and make sure you're safe._

Sam was hoping he could subtlety move you right along into bed. He had never considered Castiel any kind of competition for anything before, and why would he? But stuck in this motel room several hundred miles away, Sam was forced to recall that the angel was a very attractive man who had apparently just saved you from grievous injury. Injury that, had it occurred, Sam would have blamed himself for, Dean too. Maybe you would get carried away with your gratitude. _Dammit I knew I should have gone back._ He was reassured by your reply.

_Text from you: Yeah I'm heading to bed. Castiel said the same thing you did, he's just going to watch the house and the salvage yard and make sure all is well. He is a bit unsettling. I appreciate that you are looking out for me. G'night, Sam, Call me tomorrow?_

_Text from Sam: Of course. G'night._

He hesitated at adding 'babe' or 'dear' or anything like that. He should probably call you that sort of thing in person first and see if you liked it, or if you laughed your head off.

 

“I'm going to head to bed now, I think,” you said to the angel. “I've had a long day as it is. I just hope I can get over the excitement and get to sleep.” You smiled up at Castiel as he rose to his feet.

“Good night, Y/N. I will keep you safe, and don't worry. I can make sure you get to sleep.” Before your mind could reel through the many many interpretations of that little gem, Castiel was reaching out to lay his fingers against your temple and your mind went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I don't own Supernatural or its characters. :) )


	10. SMUT Y'ALL

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the smut finally arrives.

Y/N= your name

 

 

 

The dark haired woman threw down her sheaf of papers in disgust. “That's it then. There are no other alternatives, we have to locate the Y/L/N girl.” Rising, she turned her obsidian regard on the thin, pock-marked man facing her. “That means locating the Winchesters. Get to it.” The thin man blinked his equally black eyes in acknowledgment, turned, and left the room.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

_Sam_

Sam Winchester was very glad to be heading back to Bobby's house. The werewolf hunt was finished, which was always good news, but this time he had something extra to look forward to: picking up the conversation, and the kissing, with Y/N. Sam hadn't quite decided which avenue to pursue in having an actual relationship with you. You were already good friends. Hell the two of you shared bed space in cheap hotels and motels on a very regular basis. This was assuredly not a one-night-hook-up deal, where he could either go the shy and charming route, or go assertive and grabby-handed. This was far more like a normal let's-go-on-dates-and-slowly-make-out-more-and-more situation.. except that while Sam was very much into the idea of dates and spending long evenings together, he was really thinking that maybe you'd be on board for speeding up the make-out plans and slide right into his bed, this time as his lover and not as his pillow thief. That line of thinking had Sam squirming in his seat in the Impala, reaching down to adjust his cock where it was straining against the zipper of his jeans. The feeling was actually pleasant, but he needed to distract himself from those thoughts of you if he wanted to be comfortable the rest of the way to Sioux Falls.

 

_You_

You were unaware of being carried up to bed and swathed inexpertly in the blankets you'd taken off that same bed in your earlier cleaning session. Carried by none other than Castiel, trenchcoated Angel of the Lord and stone cold fox. That was too bad, as you would have secretly enjoyed being carried in those very strong arms, looking up at a jawline that could probably cut steel. Alas for you, the well-meaning Castiel had knocked your ass out when you voiced some uncertainty as to whether you could fall asleep after the excitement of the angel scaring the living bejeezus out of you. (Sam would have had kittens, many tiny upset kittens, had he known his image of Castiel turning into Rhett Butler and bearing you away the bedroom had come true, sort of.) You just burrowed into the too-many blankets, deeply asleep and comforted by Sam's scent that lingered on the pillow and blanket.

 

_Castiel_

The angel, warrior of the Lord, deliverer of divine justice, loiterer in the hallway outside the room you occupied. He was keeping tabs on the many other issues and problems he was handling by listening to what the Winchester brothers referred to as his 'angel radio.' He had more than enough attention to spare some for watching over your safety. That sort of duty was very comfortable for Castiel. _Watch over a specific human and guard her well-being. Check._ He was interested in becoming acquainted with you, the first female that had remained any given amount of time with the brothers. He had some sense of how you had joined the hunters, that they were protecting you from some danger that had not yet abated, but Castiel hadn't had the leisure to learn all the facts. He had caught a very strong vibe from Sam Winchester expressing anxiety over Y/N's safety. It was different in texture and intensity than the feeling Dean projected when discussing the issue with Castiel. He could detect affection towards you from both brothers, Dean's mixed with amusement and some annoyance. Dean seemed to be more open about you than he had been about other strangers to Castiel, so that was something the angel marked. Sam was normally concerned about any humans who were embroiled in the cases they took, as Sam was a kind man. Even with all that he had been through, and all that Castiel feared the younger Winchester would have to endure, Sam was compassionate and more easily showed his feelings in regards to assisting humans in need. This was different, however. From Sam the angel received much stronger feelings of affection and attachment and a neediness. There was amusement as well and something that Castiel had tentatively identified as a romantic infatuation verging on adoration. _Was this how humans fell in love?_ He was aware of the phenomenon of course, had witnessed it from a great distance many times, but this was Castiel's first chance to observe two humans falling in love at close quarters. At least he thought it was going that way, he hoped it was going that way. It would be an invaluable opportunity to learn firsthand about the experience. His brow furrowed as his oceanic blues focused inward, listening to the voices of dozens of his brothers and sisters. _I hope this isn't the pizza man and the babysitter all over again._

 

_Sam_

He practically vaulted form the Impala before it had even come to a complete stop. Sam ignored Dean's shout; his brother was very fond of his own voice and had a high opinion of his own wit. He was focused on getting inside and getting to you. He'd made up his mind to let you take the lead on the make-out side of your new relationship; he was going to slide into bed beside you as he'd done dozens of times before. Maybe he wouldn't wear quite so many layers of clothing, but hey. He tended to get too warm at almost any time, and Y/N knew that fact very well since you had no qualms about sticking cold feet against 'Sam the Living Furnace Winchester', as you had put it. He shed his coat, then the thinner jacket, then the long-sleeved plaid shirt that he wore _Damn I do wear a lot of clothes, I wonder when that became a habit_ and dropped them onto the couch as he passed. He paused to kick off his boots and removed his belt hastily to leave them downstairs as well. _That was just good manners right? Taking care of all the noisy parts._ Sam padded upstairs eagerly, feeling himself shift against his boxer-briefs and grow tight again before he'd even made it to the upper hallway.

As he'd hoped. Y/N was curled up and sleeping in the guest room. Sam quietly shut the door behind him as he stepped inside. The little illumination that filtered through the curtains was more than enough for him to see, and to see you huddle in what you referred to as the blanket burrito. Sam only paused a few seconds before pulling his soft vee-neck shirt off and tossing it to the floor, where his jeans promptly joined it. That left him in boxer briefs that normally fit him very comfortably, given that they were intended for men of his size, but he had to adjust himself again before lifting the edge of the comforter and climbing into the bed beside you.

You stirred and turned towards him as the bed dipped and cooler air sneaked in under the covers. Sam murmured a reassurance and watched as your face immediately smoothed, the sound or his voice or his scent as he lay down beside you comforting you in your sleep. He felt a tight squeeze in chest as your sleepy unaware self mumbled “Sam” with a contented sigh and you turned towards him, scooting up close beside him and yep, sharing his pillow and abandoning your perfectly good one. Sam had to believe that your feelings for him were the same as him for you. The way you reacted to him in your sleep clearly indicated that you trusted him, felt safe with him, wanted to be near him. All those things were floating around the back of his head as he gently rested his hand on your hip, pleasantly surprised that you weren't in your normal sleep wear but in one of his old t-shirts instead. The thin material had worn soft and since it was many sizes too large, your throat and shoulders were mostly uncovered.

Sam slid his hand up your hip, enjoying the smooth softness of skin over muscle, down the dip of your waist, to rest against your ribs, the his thumb and the side of his index finger just brushing against the warm swell of your breast. This was so difficult for him, with is heart pounding and his body temp soaring upwards, his mouth gone dry with anticipation and his dick straining and twitching in its attempt to find some friction. Sam was trying not to just rut all over you but when his hand slid up your side, you'd shifted and drawn your thigh up against his groin. He moved his hand to cup your breast, finally, finally, an almost unheard groan at the back of his throat as the weight and curve and warmth filled his hand just as he had imagined. You moved again, your hand fluttering towards your face as your eyelids cracked open, mildly disoriented and suddenly overwhelmed by the warmth of Sam Winchester beside you.

You loved that feeling, Sam's body warm and solid against yours, his even breathing opening a path for you to join him in sleep. But, your mind and your body were just now telling you, Sam was most assuredly not asleep. He was awake, leaning over you, his hand.. oh my, his hand gently kneading your breast and pressing against your nipple as it tightened against his palm. “Sam?” Your hand went to to the side of his face, fingers in his hair and flexing, just a bit of unconscious pressure drawing his mouth towards yours. His lips were on yours then, at first very gentle and teasing, then the kiss seared hot and his mouth fastened to yours, tongue slipping into your parted lips and tangling your tongue, firm and very directed. You arched against his hand, into his mouth, fingers pulling at his long hair and earning a groan from Sam. He shifted and you were flat under him, your other hand gripping at his bared shoulder, sliding down his back, and you were wide awake now, awake and aroused and excitement thundered through your veins, made your heart leap, made your thighs part for the press of his body, your knees clasping his hips. You could feel the hard insistent press of his cock against your thighs, the jut of it against your soft panties and against your abruptly throbbing and intensely interested clit.

“Sam!” That seemed to be the only thing you could say, this time breathlessly and excited, fingers flexing against his hot skin and all that muscle you had secretly lusted for. “Is this, do you want this?” Sam's mouth was just under your ear, against your throat, and you just loved him for the earnest sincerity on his voice. He would stop right now if you wanted it. “Jesus fuck, Sam, yes, if you stop I'll kick your ass.” His laugh was deep and vibrated against your skin, making you shudder, the press of his weight against you as his hips rocked making your sex twitch in response. You were aware of how wet you were suddenly, how much you wanted Sam inside you, how much you wanted him to just fuck your brains loose. From his load groan and the way his hand tightened in your hair, you'd said some of that out loud. _Oops._

His mouth sucked at the tender pulse point under it, earning a soft ah of surprised pleasure that had him repeated the gesture down your neck, across your collarbone, to the tops of your breasts. Sam moved, his body hovering over yours, both hands now holding one of your breasts and squeezing, those long fingers plucking at the collar of his old shirt. You wiggled out of it with his assistance then Sam's hands and mouth were just all _over_ you, lips on your jaw, your throat, your mouth, down to one nipple to bite gently and then firmly suck at your cry, hands skimming down your sides, exploring your breasts, thumbs running over the sensitive undersides; fingers spanning your ribcage easily as he just lifted your torso up and laved long strokes of his tongue over your breasts, between them, all while your fingers dug into his shoulders then pulled at his hair, grabbed at his flexed biceps and held hard. He laughed and nosed his way down your belly, dipping his tongue into your belly button and earning a shaky laugh.

Sam looked up the length of your body, breasts rising with each rapid breath, your mouth kiss-swollen, face flushed and your eyes all wide and hazy with lust. “God, Y/N, you have no idea how much I've wanted this. How many times I've daydreamed about being right here.” He pressed a hot open-mouthed kiss just above the top of your underwear, grinning at your moan and the way your hips wriggled. He hooked his fingers into the side of your panties and slid them down off your legs with your eager cooperation. Then Sam started at your ankle, mouthing his way up your skin, hand holding your leg in place, suckling deep marks behind your knee because at the first light suction you squirmed and gasped; up your thigh with little kisses and nips and tender bites to the inside of your thighs as he settled down between them. You were suddenly shy and your legs flexed inwards, but he just moved slipped his hands under your thighs and spread them wide. “So pretty, you're so pretty here. I knew you would be.” Sam's face dropped as his fingers slid your folds open, hot breath panted onto your wet skin and pulling another series of gasps from you. “Mm I love the sounds you make baby. So frikken sexy.” He set his tongue firmly against your sex and licked up, hard, tongue flat and wide and the tip catching your swelling clit. His hands gripped at your hips and held you in place as you bucked, stammering his name, every lick and suckle of _Jesus that tongue_ bringing the most amazing pornographic sounds from your opened mouth. One of your hands was fisted in his hair and pulling tighter and tighter as his tongue played you, sliding into your trembling entrance and probing, his hum at your taste making you a little bit crazy. Your other hand couldn't find a place to stay, wrapping in the sheets then going to his shoulder and almost pushing against the intense pleasure that was sparkling from the connection of his firm mouth and hot, wicked tongue to your tender nub and needy depths. Sam shifted, hand dropping so he could press one long elegant finger inside you, then another, his lips sucking at your clit as you writhed and panted his name. You moved with his fingers now as he fucked you with them, your cries becoming very loud indeed and your thighs trembling against his shoulders. “Jesus Sam, I can't! God I'm gonna come” come out between the sighs and groans and Sam sped up his fingers, lips sucking your hard clit against his teeth, fingers crooking inside and rubbing hard against the spot he'd found, a little different texture and you almost came off the bed when he pressed you there. “Do it baby, come for me,” he growled out and that was it: your hips raised, thighs locked hard, head thrown back as you came on his hand and mouth, his name scraped from your mouth while your cunt spasmed and pulled at his fingers

“You're so frikken gorgeous when you come.” Sam almost sounded accusatory as he lifted off his knees and slipped off the damned confines of his boxers, finally. “I dreamed of this.” He settled atop you, elbows at your shoulders, his turn to gasp when you reached down to grab his cock and _holy god that was a -lot-of Sam, you could have come just from thinking about it_ and helped guide him into place. “Sam, please, I need you, I wanna come on your cock,” you managed to gasp which apparently was the magic phrase because he moaned and pushed into the tight, swollen heat of your cunt, the blunt head of his dick parting you and filling you so damned good. You shook as Sam slid into you, a long steady thrust that had you grasping at his shoulders and spluttering out a stream of praise and curses.

Sam held there, filling you all the way up, shuddering himself at the effort of remaining still while the hot sheath of your body pulsed and twitched against him. One strong contraction of your muscles and he started moving involuntarily, groaning at the heat and wetness and the way your muscles flexed around him. Your knees were against his hips, locked tight, as you held on and every breath was a sound; each time Sam nearly out of you was answered with a little sobbing breath and when he thrust back in, deep, thick, as far as he could go, you made a high little cry or squeak that was completely out of your control. The sound of his body slapping against yours, the wet sound of his cock sliding into and out of your cunt was just amazing. “Oh my god that's so good,” you managed that phrase. The other words were not understandable or just bits of you trying to experience everything, to feel everything all at once as Sam rocked into you and out, your hips meeting his and your hands in a death grip on his biceps now. Sam raised up a bit, pulling at your knee and raising it up high, holding it there as he bent into you, the change in angle and he was fucking you just the right way and hitting every spot perfectly and you were at the edge once more. “Oh god I'm gonna come baby, please,” you babbled out and you didn't know what you were pleading for, but Sam groaned and thrust harder, his hand falling to splay across your belly, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing hard. That did it and you choked out his name as you came on his cock, god that was the best part, straining hard against him as he fucked you through your orgasm. It was too much for Sam, holding you tight, sweat covering both of you and dripping from his brow and wet hair, and with a shout he came inside you, thrusting three more times hard and deep, taunt against you while sharp pleasure spiked through him, beating in time with his racing heart.

 

 

“Sam? Sammy? Wake up bro.” Sam jerked awake, nearly falling out of bed as he jumped, sweaty and disoriented, to a sitting position. His eyes were wild as he glanced around the motel room, finding Dean leaning over him and laughing. “Those were some serious happy noises you were making. Wonder who you were dreaming about, hmm?” Sam collapsed onto his bed, trying to catch his breath, trying to calm his heart, amazed at how vivid that dream had been and he was _hard as a fucking brick. He was going to have to hobble into the bathroom and take care of that._

 

You shot awake with a cry, hands reaching out for a Sam who wasn't there, only pillows and the blankets that were now smothering you. _No fucking way_ but yes fucking way. You were alone and dressed in the t-shirt and panties you'd gone to bed in, though those panties were soaked and you pulled them off fitfully. You needed more than a cold shower, you needed a dip in the Bering Sea to cool you off, your hair was sweaty at the temples and you could feel sweat cooling on your skin. You lurched out of bed and stumbled to the bedroom door, throwing it open and intending on just barreling your way to the shower.

Your progress was halted by the angel standing just outside your door. Castiel look as shocked as you'd felt on awakening, his incredibly blue eyes wide and stunned, his mouth open a little, his face smeared with scarlet and his ears were red too, even his hair look scandalized. _Oh fuck me he had somehow witnessed that entire Casa Erotica dream about Sam._

“Ah, ah, Y/N, a-apologies, I thought you were in distress, I --” and Castiel, warrior of the Lord, disappeared in a fwump that sounded like bedsheets cracking in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I do not own Supernatural or its characters.)
> 
> Y'all should have figured out by my user name that I am a big Misha fan. He is a master at trolling the fandom. Blame my trolling on the overlord. ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader goes shopping with Castiel,

You had finally gotten some sleep, after the incredibly hot extra XXX Casa Erotica dream you'd had about Sam 'Sexgod' Winchester. And of course, the ensuing mortification shared by you and Castiel-Angel-of-the-Lord when you had discovered that he had eavesdropped _was that the right word?_ on that smoking hot bit of nighttime fantasy. You took the time now to put the guest room back together, having dismantled it during your crusades against years of dust bunnies, then settled for a quick cool shower to wash away the traces of sweat from your skin.

Thinking about the dream as you went through the shower motions on autopilot, you winced in surprise as your fingers slipped over the back of your knee. _That felt like a bruise, weird._ But Castiel had apparently healed you of the bruises you'd gathered when you fell down the stairs and into his very solid self, when he was carrying to bed, most likely. You were fairly sure you hadn't hit him with the back of your knee anyway.

Turning off the water you exited the shower and toweled off quickly, then twisted around and examined your extended leg. _Holy shit._ There was a dark brown/purple mark on the most sensitive skin there.. right where Sam had latched on and sucked hard in that amazing dream. _What the actual fuck. Was that.. was that even possible? Could you dream about getting a hickey and somehow make one manifest on your skin? That was frikken weird, man._

You frowned over that thought as you brushed your teeth and got dressed, panties, bra, jeans, pretty white camisole printed with tiny blue and red flowers, long-sleeved blue sweater, socks, boots. After examining your pondering face in the old mirror, you applied some makeup – not glamour girl level, but a bit of eyeliner and a touch of gloss – and attempted some kind of style to your hair. Maybe that was too much. You didn't even know if the Winchesters would be back today or not. _Phoo._

You stopped to retrieve your jacket from the guest room you were using, donning it and slapping the pockets checking for your stuff. _Phone, check, credit cards and a bit of money in the phone case, check check, ID in the phone case, check check check, keys to the ratty truck in the pocket, check check check checkity check._ You made it safely down the stairs this time, adjusting your jacket and thinking about what you wanted to purchase at the grocery store when you heard your phone chime with the notification of a text message.

 

Sam: _Good morning, if you're up already. How are you today? Any bruises from your adventure last night?_

Sam was sitting across from his brother at a surprisingly decent diner, texting you while he waited for his eggs and hash browns. He was referring to your fall down the stairs, of course. OF COURSE.

You: (After fumbling the phone and nearly dropping it to the floor, thinking he was referring to the dream). _Yes? Oh the stairs, yes, seems like your friend healed all of that when I wasn't paying attention. No harm no foul. How are you? How's Dean?_

Sam: _Dean's fine, we're both fine. We have a place to stake_ _out and if we don't catch our furry friend tonight, we'll have to wait and try again next month. I did wake up with some scratches but I probably got them running around in the woods last night._ (Not, of course, from the vivid dream where you'd dug your nails into his shoulders and writhed under him, _Jesus._ )

You: _Ouch, well take care of yourself. I haven't heard anything from Bobby, I don't know if he will be back today or not. I'm heading into town to do some grocery shopping. Don't worry, I will be very careful and alert. I just really need some food that isn't canned. See you soon, I hope. :)_

_Sam:_ (frowning at his phone, moving it absently out of the way as his plate was delivered) _I can understand that Y/N and you should be just fine, nobody should have been able to track you to Bobby's. Just be careful and don't stay out too long, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can._

“What's the matter. Grumpy Bear?” Dean Winchester was gleefully pouring maple syrup over a stack of pancakes and drizzling some onto slices of bacon. He took this moment, when his mouth was not communing with the sacred breakfast, to ask his brother. “How's Tiger Lily? I assume that's who you are texting at this indecent hour.”

Sam glared up at his brother from under his floppy bangs. “She's fine but she's going into Sioux Falls to shop. Do you think we should ask Cas to go with her? He's probably pretty busy.” Sam wished he could retract the words before he'd even said them. With this distance between Y/N and himself, Sam was picturing Castiel in a new and not entirely comfortable light. He shut his phone, traded it for a fork, and started on his own food.

“It can't hurt to ask. If he's busy, he's busy. Your princess will be safe shopping at the local Wiggly Mart or whatever food store they have in town. I didn't really notice.” Dean usually paid close attention to any sources of food, but now that he thought about it, Bobby did all the shopping when they visited him, except for beer and chip runs to the Gas N' Sip. Dean pulled his phone out and went about making a call.

 

You weren't exactly thrilled with the battered old truck that Bobby had left you with, but it ran and it had a heater. The radio wasn't even there, just an empty place in the dash. _I suppose it's more important that it takes me to the store and back._ Then there was that sound again, that crack like heavy fabric snapping, and a faint ruffle of air across the side of your face and your hair was in your eyes and you swerved wildly because there was someone in the seat beside you! Castiel reached over and gripped the wheel, guiding the truck back into its proper lane while you made funny high pitched choking sounds. A moment later, you were able to speak.

“Castiel! Wow, dude, you're going to give me a heart attack.” You were not an adrenaline junkie but if the gorgeous angel was going to keep popping in unexpectedly and sending your system into 'all hands on deck' mode, you just might become one. “Could you please give me some sort of warning that you're going to magically appear beside me? A bell, a chime, a phone call?”

"That would be impractical, Y/N," replied the angel in that serious gravelled voice.  "I would have to join you to ring a bell and it would serve no purpose to join you, ring a bell, leave, and rejoin you." He had folded his hands neatly in his lap and observed the road serenely.  You forced yourself to keep your eyes on the road as well and not on the man - well, angel -  candy seated beside you. Very literal angel candy too, it appeared. "Your number is not in my contact list."

"We can fix that," you said with a laugh. "Not that I don't enjoy the company, I do, but were you really very interested in going grocery shopping? Or did the Brothers Winchester ask you to check up on me again?"  Even if Castiel were willing to spend his time watching over you, as he put it, you would feel very guilty as such of a waste of the angel's incalculably precious time.

"They did ask me, yes. I am told there are demons on your trail and that is very serious, Y/N. Keeping a guard over you is not a waste of my time." _There it was again, was he reading your mind?_ "Apologies, Y/N, I normally would not intrude on your privacy but your thoughts are very loud. This close to you I don't have to expend any effort to hear them." _That must be why he had been an accidental witness to that XXX rated dream starring Sam and me._ As you thought this, your felt your face turn red and saw the same color appear on Castiel's tanned face.

"Ah, Castiel, we may as well address the elephant in the room."   
"Are you unwell? We are in a vehicle, not a room, and there is no elephant. There is not room enough for an elephant, even a baby." _Literal angel is literal._

"No no, it's an expression. It refers to an awkward or uncomfortable issue that everyone is pretending isn't there.. the elephant in the room. In this case, it's the dream I had last night."  You were surprised that this warrior of the lord could blush like a new bride. "Here's what we are going to do, Castiel. We are going to act as if you didn't see that dream. It's not the sort of thing I would share with anyone, much less a brand new acquaintance, and you didn't intend to see it anyway. So we will just behave as if you didn't know about it, and as if I didn't know that you knew about it, and we'll just continue on in that fashion."

Castiel listened to you intently, the color gradually receding from his pretty face. "I think I understand, Y/N. If this is a common tactic among humans, it explains some of the things that Dean Winchester does that I don't understand." 

"All right then. Grocery store and possibly a Mal-Mart it is, I'm not sure what stores are in town."

 

Several hours later, you and your angelic companion returned to Bobby's house, several bags of groceries in tow. You also had two cats and all their paraphernalia with them. After mentioning in passing to Castiel that you wanted to find some cats to rid Bobby's house of mice, nothing would suffice but going to the county animal shelter and adopting a cat immediately. You talked him into letting you get the grocery shopping done first, and you had some cat supplies thanks to your time spent as a feline, but you picked up a few things more. (The angel had been fascinated by your insights as a feline and had done some angel mojo thing where he read your thoughts over that time, seemingly pleased as punch. It had felt weird though.) 

Castiel had spoken with the adult cats at the shelter, explaining your intention and the 'mice situation.' He had finally selected two, a lithe short-haired calico who, apparently, said her name was Annabelle, and a sturdy ginger tom named Hercule. "They are the cat's own names, Y/N, and should be referred to them as such."  You had spoken with the cats as well, with the angel acting as translator when needed, explaining about the property and where they could come and go, the litter box location, and what was expected of them as Bobby's cats. Annabelle and Hercule understood entirely and took their new responsibilities very seriously indeed. Hercule brought you a fat mouse while you were unloading the bags of groceries, in fact.  You were appropriately appreciative due to your newly acquired feline sympathies, and made much of the tomcat before he ate the mouse. _I bet it was so juicy._ You shook that thought away as the angel gave you an odd look.

You were deciding on what to cook for supper with thankfully fresh vegetables when Castiel stopped in his tracks. He'd been assisting the cats in mapping out patrol routes among the house, but he stood completely still, his head tilting over much as a bird's would. "I must go, Y/N. Dean Winchester is praying to me for assistance." Before you could ask what was wrong, if they were all right, the angel blipped out of existence with that heavy snapping sound.

Well dammit. You didn't dare call or text Sam in case he was busy fighting a werewolf. You were extremely concerned however. A nudge at your ankle cause you to glance down at Annabelle. She's sensed your distress and come to offer her support. _Cats were so frikken awesome._ You bent and picked her up, holding her in a dignified manner, to wait and see what happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters. I suppose this is branching out into an AU so I will flag it as such. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader and Bobby get a surprise.

As it turned out, you sucked at waiting. After that disturbing announcement and the abrupt disappearance of Castiel, Angel of the Lord and thing of beauty, you were stuck in Bobby Singer's house with two cats and hundreds and hundreds of dusty old books. _Welllll crap_.

Finishing the soup you were putting together filled up a little time. More time was taken up when Annabelle and Hercule, the new mouse patrol members, brought some of their catches in for you to admire. You did admire them, though you politely refused to eat any of the mice, and you turned down the snake as well. Hercule at least was very pleased to eat up everything the cats had hunted. Annabelle was more interested in the bits of chicken left over from your food prep so you dutifully sauteed them and served them to the pretty tortoiseshell. A bit more time taken up, but you still had hours to go before you'd even think about going to sleep.

You spent another hour dusting and sweeping the downstairs floor of the old farmhouse. Since you were listening to your iPod and dancing around with the broom, to the puzzlement of the cats, that time went by even more swiftly. You really wished you had somewhere to go, something to do, but you had promised the Winchesters and Bobby that you would stay put in the warded, salted, who-knew-what-all-ed, protection of the house. Boring. _So boring!_ This was ridiculous.

You flopped into Bobby's desk chair and opened the notebook he'd left for you. There were four pages, front and back, filled with questions and definitions that the old hunter had left for you to research. That was something, anyway. Fortifying yourself with a pitcher of sweetened iced tea and a large bowl of soup, you opened the first book on Bobby's study list. Then you had to hunt up his Latin to English dictionary because _really, who spoke Latin?_ The first thing on the list was translating the hunter's exorcism into English, so you'd understand the intent and purpose of the Latin words, then memorizing the entire thing. _How the hell was anyone supposed to know how to correctly pronounce a dead language?_ You sighed and bent to it however. Learning the exorcism rite was the first item on the list of things Bobby felt you needed to know in order to survive in the real world.

Another hour and you swore you had sprained your tongue on the old phrases. You weren't stumbling over the words anymore, though, and were beginning to get into the rhythm of the prose. You weren't ready to cast out any demons from memory yet, but you felt pretty sure that if you could read the rite off fluently enough. In line with that you took a picture of the ritual with your phone so you'd have it with you. That felt smart. You checked your messages for the zillioneth time that night. No messages from either Sam or Dean. You hadn't gotten a chance to put your number into Castiel's phone so you had no way to reach him either. _Siiiigh_. Back to your Hunter 101 course.

You were busy on a long paragraph dealing with ghosts and how to defend against them (salt, cold iron) and how to banish them (burn their bones or whatever personal object was holding them to the world, that could be anything from hair to a treasured possession) when your phone finally rang. Eagerly snatching it up, you were disappointed to see it was Bobby Singer calling, not Sam. Another look at the clock told you it was after 11:00 pm. _That's it, after I talk to Bobby I'm at least texting Sam._

 _You:_ Hey Bobby, what's up?

 _Bobby:_ You hangin' in there Y/N? Nothing happening, everything still safe and sound?

 _You:_ Yes yes, I'm fine. Castiel nearly scared me to death but other than that it's all good. I'm just waiting to hear from Sam.

 _Bobby:_ Waiting on Sam huh? (You could hear the smile in his voice). Not on Dean?

 _You:_ Well, sure, or Dean. Either one! I see what you're doing, bad man. What's up?

 _Bobby:_ I need you to read off a spell for me. Look on the top shelf of the tallest bookcase. It's a big old book, bound in dark blue with gold letterin' but most of the letters have worn off.

 _You:_ (After locating the book in question) Yep, got it. What next? (You carried the book to the desk and set it down.)

 _Bobby:_ Okay, somewhere in the back third of the book, there're pages dealing with other planes. You'll see a drawing of a bunch of symbols on the left page, and a ritual on the right  page. I need you to read that ritual to me.

You flipped to the correct page, absently rubbing the dust that transferred to your fingers onto your jeans. It was a weird drawing, some sort of diagrams with small horrible figures standing on circles or platforms that stuck out off of a main artery or tree. Your gaming experience told you that it was a visual representation of some planes you'd never heard of, and you hoped the creatures depicted were just warnings and not actual drawings of the citizens of those planes. Shuddering, you focused your attention on the words.

 _You:_ Okay here goes.  _Is est penitus no sursum quod vacuus penitus. EGO iustus necessarius nonnullus_ \--

Your recitation cut off when the book went flying violently across the room, slamming to ground with a crash and _holy shit Bobby's desk was on fire!_ You grabbed the pitcher of tea and doused the flames, dropping the phone and shrieking like a tea kettle in the process. You could hear Bobby shouting at you from your phone, but it took a minute or three for you to get the fire and yourself under control. Then you retrieved your phone.

 _You:_ Bobby! What the hell man, what are you trying to do?

 _Bobby:_ What happened?! What was all that noise?

 _You:_ I'll tell you what happened, your damned book went sailing across the room all by itself, then your desk caught on fire!

 _Bobby:_ (Loud squawking sounds and what you assumed to be profound swearing)

You waited while the hunter made his noises, spluttering and cursing. You were taking deep breaths to calm yourself down when Bobby apparently got control of his temper.

 _Bobby:_ Run that by me again, Y/N. You say the book flew across the room and my desk caught on fire? What else were you doing besides reading that ritual?

 _You:_ Nothing! Nothing at all! I wasn't even touching the stupid book. It just took off!

 _Bobby:_ (After a long silence) Okay. Here's what I want you to do. Leave the book where it fell. Grab some salt and draw a ring around it, that's at least something. Then see what you can salvage off my desk. I'll be back tomorrow or the next day. Call me if anything else strange happens, you hear?

After assuring Bobby that you would most certainly be calling him the moment anything even vaguely fishy transpired, you wasted no time is salting the living fuck out of that book.

 *********************

Sam Winchester looked at his phone hopefully. He'd been thinking about you and wishing you would text him or call, but realized that since you knew that he and his brother were hunting down a werewolf, you would probably not try to contact him in case he was up to his neck in fangs and claws. When his phone vibrated he snatched it up, letting out a sigh when he saw BOBBY on the ID screen. He flipped it open to answer it. "Hey Bobby what's ---  Slow down, what now? (pause) Is she okay? (pause) What could cause something like that to happen? When are you heading back? Okay. Okay I will. Thanks Bobby." Sam shut his phone and went to find Dean, jamming his phone into his coat pocket and checking his gun again to make sure there was silver in the chamber.  Although they had taken out one werewolf, another had jumped them and gotten away while they called to Castiel for help. Sam need to talk this over with Dean and he needed to wrap up this hunt, now.

********************

You would be grateful later that no one had seen you hunkering down behind the sofa, eyeing the book warily, a fire extinguisher in one hand and your .38 in the other. The book simply laid where it had fallen on the floor, pages bent and slightly charred. You couldn't be sure though, so you sat through the night, keeping a beady eye on the damned magical-flying-exploding-into-flame book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader and Sam Winchester meet up after the shared Casa Erotic dream. Also more fire. (Some blood, mention of violence, canon appropriate stuff.)

Y/N = your name     Y/E/C = your eye color

Sam Winchester tried very hard to to take advantage or abuse Castiel's angelic powers. He didn't think it was appropriate, for one thing, and for another.. Cas seemed to respond to Deans "requests" in a more positive manner than if Sam asked for something. This time though he didn't hesitate. Once he and his brother were packed and ready to roll out of town, after handling the werewolf-that-turned-out-to-be-werewolves problem, he asked the angel to take him to Bobby Singer's. Castiel readily agreed, and Sam chalked it up to a shared interest in your well being. He had no idea of Cas' surveillance of the romance developing between himself and Y/N.

Even with Sam as a passenger, Castiel's appearance in Bobby's living room was very very quiet. The _fwoph_ of his wings was only audible if you were fairly close to him when he landed. Immediately both Sam and Cas were looking down at the very large ginger tomcat who leaped to stand in front of them in challenge, hackles raised and tail puffing out. Only after a silent communication between the cat and the angel did the cat step back and begin to groom himself ostentatiously.  Eyebrows raised, Sam shrugged at Cas and then went in search of you.

He saw the book that had evidently taken flight by itself. It was as thoroughly crusted in salt as it would be if you planned to cook it. Sam turned and saw that Bobby's old desk was looking the worse for wear with scorch marks and water stains (he wouldn't learn until later that they were actually tea stains). Papers hung from a makeshift line you'd improvised in hopes of saving all the information possible. Sam frowned.. he could have sworn he heard what sounded like breathing from right in the room with him. That couldn't be right. He looked at the cat, who was ignoring Sam grandly and clearly not worried about any spirits or ghosts or anything else out of the ordinary.  He circled the room, one hand on the gun at his hip, finding you asleep behind the couch. You had the fire extinguisher barrel held loosely in one hand, and your .38 lay close to your next hand.  Very, very cautiously Sam eased around you and lifted the gun onto the nearest shelf for safety's sake. He wasn't at all sure that you wouldn't come up shooting given the unnerving events earlier in the evening.

Sam really was pretty smart. He bent over you and laid his hand on your arm, shaking gently. You jolted away with a gasp and swung the fire extinguisher at him, clumsily. He scrambled back and fell on his butt, laughing too hard to maintain his balance. "Sam! Jesus man I could have shot you." You looked down at the black wand thingie in your hand. "Well, if this was a gun I could have shot you. Where's my gun?"

"I moved your gun out of reach precisely so you couldn't shoot me. I thought you liked my face." His smile was teasing as he scooted over to sit beside you on the floor. "I didn't figure that you'd want to shoot it." Looking into his vary-colored eyes you recalled the last time you'd 'seen' him -- in that xxx super hot dream -- and felt yourself blushing vividly. Whatever connection the two of you had shared must still be in play because Sam's face flushed red at the same moment. He darted a glance down to your mouth and back up to your Y/E/C eyes, his own dilating as his breathing hitched.  Then it was hands on each other's faces, mouths fastened together in a mutual hum of pleasure, Sam leaning over you until you tipped back into the floor, your arms winding around his neck. in Both of you would have been horrified if you'd known that Cas was lurking around, unseen, adding to his knowledge of human courtship rituals. When Sam's hands slid under your shirt, Cas abruptly recalled that Dean was driving home alone and he should really probably go and check something. Anything. He was gone as if he had never been there.

Finally you had to break away to breathe, smiling up into Sam's pretty face and laughing as his long bangs tickled your face. "Well hey there. I'm glad to see you even if I did try to hit you with a fire extinguisher." He laughed and got to his knees, extending his hands to you and pulling you up with him as he stood. Your arms fit very comfortably around his waist and it wasn't awkward at all to lean against his arms and grin up at him. Then you frowned and reached up to touch the fresh and nasty looking cuts on his cheek. "Is that blood? Holy hell, Sam, we need to get your cleaned up. Are you hurt anywhere else?" You began patting him down .. not exactly a chore.. but he laughed and caught your hands.

"I"m fine, Y/N, really. Just a few cuts and bruises nothing serious. After I shower and clean up I'll let you play doctor."  You had to laugh at his too-cute grin, his dimples displayed in full force. Sam Winchester was a charmer when he wanted to be. He just kept it hidden most of the time, unlike his older brother. "Actually.. You know, I could get dizzy and fall in the shower."

You began to walk forward, pressing him back towards the stairs, when his stomach let out a truly amazing sound. You blinked in surprise then laughed at Sam's groan, his head thrown back in disbelief. "First let's get you fed. I made some soup tonight, let me get you a bowl." Reluctantly Sam let you go, his hands trailing down your arms as you turned and headed for the kitchen.

"All right but just because I don't want a stomach soundtrack all night. I want to take a look at that book that caught on fire too." Your head leaned out from around the refrigerator, your look filled with concern despite the cookie you had in your mouth. "It'll be fine, Cookie Monster." He shook his head and lifted the book carefully, shaking off what had to be an entire large container of salt from the dark leather cover.  He paged through it as he brought it to the table, where you were setting two places. He reached into the fridge for a beer while you set the pot of soup on the stove and turned on the heat. "Bobby said it was just a simple warding spell, nothing that should have caused any kind of fire or anything else." You shrugged and helped yourself to a beer.

" I don't know what happened, Sam." You struggled with opening the bottle for a minute before giving up and handing it to Sam. He just grinned as he popped the top off and handled you back your beer. "I was reading the words right from the page. I wasn't even holding the book or anything, I was holding a phone. Could I have misread or mispronounced something so badly that it made the book take off and caught the desk on fire?"

"I don't think that's possible, darling." Sam looked at you. You looked at Sam. You both began to laugh. "Okay, okay, not darling. Dear? Honey? Angel baby? Buttercup?" With each nickname you laughed harder, waving your hand to signal no to each and every one of them. "Well baby and sweetheart are out, Dean uses those all the time. Let me see. Precious? Muffin? Baby doll?" Sam snapped his fingers and pointed at you. "That's the one. Baby doll."

You were still shaking your head with a grin. "Baby doll, huh. Just because I'm shorter than you?  Right, my turn. What can I call you?" You scrutinized his pretty face with elaborate care. Sam's dimples were showing full force with his grin even as he pretended to flinch to prepare for whatever nonsense you threw his way. "Cowboy? Stud muffin? Sugar bear? Pumpkin? Dear heart? Ducks?" You brightened up and nodded with fake enthusiasm. "You'd make a great Ducks or Ducky." Sam just raised his brows at you over his beer bottle. "Fiiiinnneee. Really, you know, I kind of like just Sammy. I know you don't care for it though."

Sam reached over and took your hand in his, brought it to his lips for a kiss. "Actually I wouldn't mind so much if you called me Sammy. Just not in, you know, in bed or anything." You felt yourself turning pink again since the phrase 'in bed with Sam' no longer meant platonicly sharing sleeping space because his brother was a greedy bed hog. Not after the dream you'd had where you and Sam had done very many interesting delicious things of the very much non-platonic variety.  He let you of your fingers reluctantly. "I want to try something before we get too distracted." He pushed back from the table, leaving his empty bowl and taking the infamous book with him.

It only took a few minutes for Sam to clear the area around Bobby's desk of any errant papers. He laid the book on the table, thumbed back to the scorched page, then bent to retrieve the fire extinguisher. "All right, baby doll. Just stand there and read the words off the page for me. It'll be fine, don't worry." You took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and squinted down at the page.

" _Is est penitus no sursum quod vacuus penitus. EGO iustus necessarius nonnullus_ \--" and just as before, fire leapt into being in a dramatic whoosh of super-heated air. Sam had the fire extinguisher going, blasting the desk and the book and a good bit of you with smelly white foam before you had finished yelping. Then he dropped it and just grabbed for you, his face gone pale, and dragged you around the desk to hold you tightly against his chest. You were too busy coughing and trying to catch your breath to see the expression on his face. The flames had brought back too vividly the other time Sam had watched a girl he cared about burn. After a moment of holding you, he eased off, one hand stroking over your hair and down your face, his worried attention seeking out any injuries or scorches to you.

"I'm fine, Sammy, really," you said around another cough. "It just scared the hell out of me and I need some water. I'm okay." You patted his chest and gently pulled free, very much needing some water to wash the taste of the fire extinguisher out of your mouth.  While you filled and drink two big glasses of water at the sink, Sam was warily examining the book and the now unreadable page.

"There's no reason for this to have happened. I'll do some research on it and make some calls. Maybe Bobby or Cas will have some ideas." Sam had definitely not forgotten the dream he'd had about you, and had not at all forgotten his plan to try and reenact the entire thing, but that was going to have to wait. He was too worried, you were too scared, and he was feeling the effects of the werewolf hunt. He was very much intent on shoving the image of Jess burning and of you suddenly cut out from him by a blast of fire from his mind. "C'mon. I need a shower and you need clean clothes. We're go over this all again in the morning.'

You took the hand he proffered, his much larger one closing around yours and squeezing gently. You nudged him with your elbow and smiled up at him, not needing to say anything else at that particular moment, and followed him up the stairs.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or the SPN characters and setting.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader and Sam discuss the boyfriend/girlfriend thing and Dean is not as funny as he thinks he is, ever. Also more smut.

Y/N = your name   Y/E/C  = your eye color

You weren't sure exactly what had woken you. You squinted at the curtained window, brain too fuzzy to give you any information except that yep, that was daylight behind the curtains. You were _so_ comfortable though, _so_ warm, all snuggled up against the solid warmth you were pressed against, a heavy arm over your waist with the hand tucked under you. Huh. Soft, even breaths stirred your hair as your brain began to clear. That was Sam using you as a teddy bear. _Your_ Sam. You smiled and stretched against him, enjoying the feel of such a great deal of extremely comfy boyfriend cuddling you close. _I wonder if he's technically my boyfriend yet. I suppose so, we sort of decided that didn't we? I'll have to check._

"Sammy. Hey Sammy." You wiggled a little in his embrace, turning around so that you faced him. Well, faced his collarbones anyway; Sam had you tucked up under his chin but that was quite all right. You very much enjoyed the opportunity to run your fingers over his tanned skin, tracing little patterns. "Wake up, Sammy. I have something to ask you." Sam's response was to grumble and wrap his larger leg over yours, effectively trapping you in a tangle of Sam. "Wake up, lazybones." You knee was between his knees, your stomach against... _some_ of Sam was awake anyway. You could feel his cock half-hardened and nestled close to you. You grinned against his chest. You two hadn't actually had any sexy times, just that amazing dream. He was here, you were here, all cozy in the warm bed.

It took some maneuvering to get your hand down between you but you did manage. Your fingers traced along the waistband of his flannel pajama bottoms, then crept over the band of his underwear. "Saaammmy. Wake up. You're going to miss all the fun." You began pressing slow, open mouthed kisses along Sam's throat, tasting the faint salt of his skin, humming a little as you worked your way towards his mouth.  Your fingers slipped down just a little to rub your palm along the twitching length of his dick. When your mouth sucked against his throat a little harder, Sam gasped and you felt him jerk awake. "Shh, Sammy, 's me. Wake up, I have something to ask you."

A sleepy laugh rumbled up against you. "If this is how you're going to wake me up every morning, I'll answer all the questions that you like." Awake Sam was much more proactive than asleep Sam. His hand dipped under the hem of your tank top then up to cover your breast, the slightly roughened skin of his palm just barely grazing over your delicate skin. His other hand had again magically found its way to your ass and was kneading, squeezing, pulling you tighter against his body.

"If you keep that up I'm going to forget what I wanted to ask." Your eyes were closed as you snugged up tight against Sam. He nuzzled his face against yours and coaxed it up, dropping a kiss to your nose before finding your mouth. The kiss was absolutely hot, and you were too now, as the body heat the pair of you generated was way too much for the blankets. Sam kicked the covers off, wrapped you firmly in his arms and rolled, carrying you with him very easily so now you lay atop his broad chest, straddling his hips so you were pretty much riding on his hard dick, layers of clothes be damned. You gasped as he rolled his hips up in a slow lazy tease, both hands under your top now to cup your breasts. "And that _really_ is not helping me think.. _ohh_." A shudder ran through you as _evil_ Sam writhed under you, his hips moving in a way that no man who didn't strip for a living should know about much less master.

"You can remember, baby doll. What did you want to tell me?" He slid his hands to grasp your waist, then down to hold our hips and he just moved you, dragging your tingling and rapidly dampening cunt against his hardness, little thrusts up into you, grinning all the while. Your hands were flat against that strong chest, steadying you as you finally understood what "growing dizzy with desire" really felt like. That was you right now, for sure; it felt like all the blood was rushing from your head to where you sat on Sam, leaving you breathless and light headed and really really fucking horny. "Were you going to tell me that you liked to be kissed here?" Sam of the amazing abs leaned up, muscles effortlessly bringing his face to your neck where he sucked hard, evoking a jolt and a soft incoherent sound of pleasure from you. You _did_ like to be kissed there as a matter of fact but that wasn't what you had meant to ask Sam. Oh yeah.

"Sammy." You pushed against his chest, sitting straighter though you were still riding against his cock and it was so hot you thought the clothes between you might just burn away. "Are you my boyfriend?" Considering that he had you halfway to Happy Town, it was a ridiculous question, but you had to ask! Sam stopped his teasing and stared at you for a few beats before busting into laughter, holding you close again and just laughing into your hair.

"Of course I'm your boyfriend, and you're my girlfriend. I figure all those times we are at a restaurant--"  "Diner" "And the nights spent together in the Impala" "on stakeouts" "spending time in the library together" "Researching" "Will you stop that?? AND we've been sharing the same bed for weeks now. I think we can say we're dating, Y/N."

With a happy laugh you laid down against Sam listening to the strong beat of his heart. His hands immediately went to the bottom of your tank top and began drawing it off over your head. "I suppose Dean was along just as a chaperone, huh?" Sam had just tossed your tank top into the middle of the floor when there was a loud pounding against the bedroom door.

"Sammy! Princess! Time to get up and get moving!" It was Dean, of course, speak of the frikken devil. "None of that funny business, ya animals." He must have heard the pair of you laughing. Sam tilted his face up at the ceiling, eyes closing tight.

"This is it. This is the day I murder my brother." You snorted and leaned down, bare chest to bare chest, forgetting Dean entirely as skin slipped against skin, the heat between you enough to generate sweat. Sam's hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, an action you welcomed with a shiver as you bit your bottom lip. His cat eyes, dark in the dim light and with his lust, gleamed as he noted that fact, dragged your mouth to his and sort of just taking it over, nipping at your lips, his tongue prodding against your mouth until it parted. You weren't sure which of you _mmmmm_ ed into kiss but it could have been both of you. In the heat and haze you were vaguely delighted to find that Sam was very much a hands on, take control sort of lover, a pleasing contrast to his sweetheart ways. The hand not twined into your hair was working your sleep pants down and you assisted by lifting up, giving him access.

"I know you're both awake, dudes. C'mon up and at 'em." Dean banged on the door again, grinning, super happy to get to be the annoying older brother. He heard something, wasn't sure what, from behind the closed door. He wasn't eavesdropping, exactly. He was very close to the door, sure, but not -actually- leaning against it. He rattled the door know again, but the faint sounds that reached him were far too pornographic to be the sound of two people getting dressed.  "I said stop that, ya filthy animals." The door wasn't locked as it turned out. Dean found that out the next moment when he rattled the knob again and the door opened, nearly spilling the pesky hunter into the room.

You heard the door open and just buried your face against Sam's neck, hands continuing the important business of sketching out his arms and chest and shoulders, sooo good and you'd wanted to touch them for so long. You felt Sam reach down and drag the sheet up to your waist but he did not stop in his quest to remove the rest of your clothing. "Take a picture, Dean, it'll last longer." You couldn't see Dean's face as it flushed a bright red, his mouth hanging open at the sight of the two of you grinding away nearly naked. He tried to make a sound, failed, and instead fled with the door slamming shut in his wake. Sam snorted and turned his attention back to you. "All right, enough of the clothes."

He rolled again, sitting back on his knees to disentangle you from your sleep pants. Your lacy white panties were still on and serving no purpose whatsoever. You were far too turned on to blush, forgetting that the dream had just been a dream and Sam hadn't seen you bare for real. He licked his lips, hot gaze traveling all over you, looking for all the world like the big bad wolf. "I've wanted to see you like this for so long. I dreamed about it." He shifted and shed off his pajama bottoms and boxer briefs (you noted in passing), abracadabra, naked Sam leaning over you. _Hot damn_. "You tell me if you want anything to stop, okay?" He bent to kiss you, one hand propping him up, the other tracing a path over your breast, down your stomach to snap at the band of your panties. Your hands were against his shoulders, kneading and pushing, impatient and excited.

"I dreamed about you too, Sammy. Just fuckin _go_ , man, please." He peeled off your panties in what had to be a world-class move, so swift and smooth you were appalled for a second -- _exactly how many times had Sam peeled women out of their panties??_ \-- but really who gave a damn. "Aside from that dream.. it's been a while." He kissed you very tenderly, so sweet it took your breath away. His hand moved between your thighs, urging them apart, long fingers stroking up the sensitive skin.

"I've got you, baby doll. I've got you." With that promise his fingers traced over the soft heat of your folds, parting them gently, his mouth sucking in your gasping breath. With considered movements he teased you open, one finger playing at your entrance until your hips bucked, them slipping into you smoothly. "God you're so tight." He groaned at the feeling, his cock throbbing in anticipation, working in and out in a slow rhythm that had you tensing beneath him, breathy little sounds all you could produce as you let the sensation roll over you. You didn't even notice that you were almost chanting his name under your breath when he added a second finger, resting his forehead against your belly as he shuddered. It was taking all his control for Sam to get you ready for him. He wanted you so much and you felt _so_ amazing just on his hand, but he was determined to cause no discomfort though you were tight as hell and he was pretty large. He wiggled down a little to blow against your clit, making you jump, bringing your hands to clutch at his hair and his name to squeak out of you. That was more than enough encouragement. He pressed a warm kiss against your clit, then tongued it firmly, sucking it into his lips and pretty much causing the last amount of coherent thinking to leave your head entirely. A third finger joined the first two as you squirmed and writhed, gasping for air as if there wasn't enough in the room, his fingers wetter and wetter as your muscles shifted and flexed against his digits. "Uh, are you on anything?"

It took a moment before you understood what he was asking, sine Sam was still working and stretching your tender sensitive cunt. "Oh. Yes. Implant." There, you'd managed three whole words! They even made sense! You heard Sam mutter something like "Thank Christ" as he moved up, settling between your thighs, his cock a rigid heat that prodded your thigh then your fluttering entrance.  "Ready baby?" You nodded vigorously, fingers plucking at his shoulders, nails lightly scratching to smooth down his back where you could reach. Then he was pressing into you, both of you holding your breaths, shuddering together at the sharp pleasure of thick and hard slipping into tight and wet. When he could go no further Sam stopped, propped over you, shaking, sweat rolling down his back and forehead.  You were arched under him, thighs gripping his hips so tight, hips raised and shivering. Sam's eyes opened and locked with your wide ones, wonder and pleasure and need reflected back from his hazel to your Y/E/C. This was just.. amazing. It had been so long and you'd wanted Sam so much and he was all around you, in you, filling you and stretching you deliciously. Sam kissed your parted lips, his tongue licking into your mouth for a hot minute, then he started to move.

You knew Sam was strong, that he was athletic. You knew he was careful with his strength in day to day life. You were SO GLAD that he wasn't like that now. He was fierce and hard and rough, holding you down with his long body, hips rocking into you with steady force. You clung to his shoulders, thighs slippery with sweat but one of his hands grabbed your thigh and pulled you tight, kept you in place as he fucked you. Sam was mouthy, a steady stream of your name and profanities given into your ear, telling you how good you felt and how much he'd wanted this, all the things he wanted to do with you and to you.  You were breathing, loud pants and sharp inhalations, every filthy suggestion greeted with incoherent agreement.  The first orgasm had you shaking in Sam's grip, your tight cunt squeezing and flexing around him and causing much louder swearing in with groans of your name. He didn't stop moving, thrusting deep into you and holding you steady while you writhed on his cock, against his sweaty hard body, your lips pressing hard into his shoulder.

Sam kissed your face, your cheeks, your jawline, the tender skin of your throat, hands smoothing up your sides to rub your breasts, pinching your hard nipples lightly, his hips resuming that stripper rolling that was sure to drive you mad here any second. You were marginally aware that the old bed was creaking like a bastard, that the headboard was banging hard into the wall and if you hadn't cleaned it you'd no doubt be covered in dust. The sheet under you was damp and twisted, the pillows long since knocked off onto who knew where. The phrase "fucked into the bed" had seemed a tad bit silly to you before you experienced it and you were so, so experiencing it now.  Sam moved to his knees, bending over you, hauling your legs up and gathering them on one shoulder, that hand keeping you in place while he rocked and thrust and swore and sweat flew from his dripping hair and rolled down his beautiful skin.  Your hands fisted in the sheet, trying to find some way to anchor yourself, Sam's eyes closed and his head tipped back, the long line of his throat so lovely, the feel of all that cock pushing deeply into you and dragging back out absolutely the center of your universe.  You were hoarse with all the gasps and pants and cries of his name, the volume shooting upwards as the position changed the sweet sharp pleasures that Sam was driving into you. He looked back down at you, mouth opened and gasping for breath, the hand on your ankles gripping hard enough to bruise.  "Come for me baby. I want you to come for me."  Just as in the dream, his other hand splayed across your belly and his thumb found your swollen clit, pressing hard enough to make you scream and try to arch off the bed. You bucked and shuddered so hard that Sam would have been thrown off if he wasn't so damned big and strong. As you flexed and squeezed around his cock he gave in, toppling over the edge with an almost shout of your name, his hips pushing in hard a few more times as he came inside you, adding his come to the wet mess you'd created between you.

Sam stayed that way, holding your legs to his shoulder, leaning into you for a long moment. Then he gently eased out of you, you hissing at the sensation, lowering your legs and wrapping you up in his arms. You were both sweaty, wrecked messes but you didn't care. You lay in his embrace, trying to catch your breath, your hands patting his arm where it fell across you.  Sam nuzzled against your sweaty hair, kissing your ear and making you giggle. "Wow. That was better than the dream." 

"Yeah. We'll have to talk about that some time. Sam?" You turned to meet his gaze, the warmth and softness in his expression making your heart do a big ol flop. "I think I'm falling into crazy about you." Your voice shook a little but that was from all the exertion, right? Not because your poor battered heart was flinching away from a possible hurt.

"I'm meeting you there, baby doll." He laced the fingers of one hand with yours, and you lay there just grinning at each other like hot sweaty sex-soaked fools. Eventually you managed to pull away and limp to the shower. There was no way you were sharing it with Sam right this minute. You'd never get out of the house if you did.

 

Dean was pacing around in the living room, talking to himself and gesturing wildly, when you cam slowly down the stairs. It was the best kind of ache possible but you were tender and planned to spend a long time soaking in a hot bath later. Dean caught the movement and turned towards you, his face pinking up just a little bit. You were far too happy and worn out to blush or care what he'd seen. "What's so urgent, Deanie?" You lowered yourself to the cough with some care.

"Man did you.. We gotta go meet Bobby! Can't you two control yourselves?" As if it were you and his brother who sucked face at every opportunity, and not Dean himself with the string of waitresses and cashiers and whatnot in every frikken town you visited. You responded, properly, by sticking your tongue out at the older Winchester. "Don't do that! I don't want to think about where it's been."

"I can surely tell you all about it, Deanie," you answered all sugary sweet. "Let me see, first I--"

Sam came down to the living room to see his older brother with his fingers in his ears, actually saying, "Lalalalalala," to drown out the highly detailed and entirely fictitious account of what you'd done to Sam with that same tongue. "Wow. Where was I for all that? Or is it on the agenda for later?" Sam grinned down at you, slicking back his wet hair and shaking the water droplets from his hands towards Dean.

"Stop that! You two are disgusting! Dammit I need bleach for my eyes." Dean was making a big fuss over it, hiding the fact that he was pretty tickled to see you and his broody little brother looking so happy with one another. "C'mon Sammy. We need to go meet up with Bobby, he's got a bigger mess on his hands than expected." Sam nodded and grabbed his coat, leaning down to give you a swift kiss.

"Remember, stay in the house, kept the windows and doors locked, blah blah." You nodded at him and caught his hand as he drew away, squeezing it. "I'll call you later."

"All right. Have fun storming the castle, boys," you said cheerfully, waving at Dean in an exaggerated fashion with a dopey grin on your face until he left, slamming the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters. (I treat them better!)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Reader learns more about her family.

The Winchesters headed south out of Sioux Falls, roaring down I-29 with Dean's music already floating out the windows and trailing behind the speeding Impala. They were squinting into the sun, discussing what they knew of Bobby's situation. Dean had recovered enough from his inadvertent view of his little brother getting it on with a new girlfriend to make some sly remarks about it. "Sooo you and Y/N, gimme the details I didn't see and that, by the way, has scarred me forever." "Shut up, jerk."

They passed a large billboard advertising the latest buffet at Biggerson's _("Who doesn't love potatoes? Try our all new potato bar! We can barbecue them, boil em, broil em, ... and fresh made tater pie!"_ ) That grabbed Dean's attention and he began mentally revising their route to hit as many Biggerson's as possible. His momentary infatuation with the billboard was why he completely missed the sheriff's patrol car parked behind the sign. As the Winchesters drove past, a thin man with a pock marked face started up the cruiser and pulled out into the road. He was aimed back north in the direction that the brothers had just left.

 

You spent the morning pretending to straighten and clean house. You were really replaying the morning and Sam, over and over, humming to yourself. It was a completely chick flick moment and if you had been aware of the goofy grin on your face, you'd have been grateful that only the cats were witness to you behaving as if you were in an 80s teen movie.  You couldn't survive on endorphins and puppy love alone but nothing in the house seemed like the right thing to eat. That was the worst, that hungry for something specific but you didn't know what the specific thing _was_ and just sort of rambled around in discontent. Sam had only been gone a few hours but maybe he'd sent you a text. You hurried upstairs to check.. and your phone was dead. _Fan-fucking-tastic_. You hooked it up to the charger and changed into jeans and a hoodie over your t-shirt, stuck your feet into your sneakers. Maybe you could just zip into town for a minute and find something at a drive-through to eat. _If I never leave the truck, I'm not really going off alone. Sort of._ You were drawing up a dazzling and completely logical defense as to why you hadn't stayed at Bobby's when you heard the knock at the front door.

You peeked through the window in the door... A police car was parked slantwise to the porch. A sheriff's car, said the seal on the door. There was a woman in a brown sheriff's outfit, complete with hat, standing with the front door open, one foot propped in the car, the radio mike in her hand. Another sheriff or deputy stood on the porch, back to the door, looking out into the salvage yard. You didn't think twice about it; you unlocked the door and opened it, one hand on the door jamb, your stomach suddenly plummeting to your feet. You'd had a visit like this two winters ago and though it was was warm and sunny day, for a second you saw a dark ice-filled night. "Can I help you?" You didn't pay any attention to Hercule, who had been lazing on one of the unburned desk. The big tom leapt to his feet, back arching, hissing, every whisker vibrating with alarm. You were too busy trying to focus on this moment and this officer at your door, and push away that memory of the night your mother and brother died, to notice the feline warning.

"Miss Y/N Y/L/N?" The officer turned around, tilting his hat down at you, a somber expression on his thin face. He'd had a bad case of something when he was younger, chicken pox or acne or something, and it had left his face terribly marked. Your throat had closed, it seemed, and you could only nod in acknowledgement. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but there's been an accident. Two young men, friends of yours they said, driving a black Impala? They were run off the road by a big rig." Now it was if all you could do was listen. You couldn't see, couldn't feel the wooden frame of the door under your fingers, you couldn't think. "They're en route to Sioux Falls General. If you come with us, miss, we'll get you there as soon as possible." You nodded blindly, stepping out onto the porch and shutting the door behind you and on the now yowling cat.

The officer extended his hand around you, sort of ushering you towards the sheriff's car and opening the back for for you. You remembered "Oh, I don't have my phone. I need to go back and get it." The officer gave you an odd sort of smile, really unpleasant actually, and shoved you hard against the car. Your head hit the frame and pain blasted stars across your vision. The man grabbed you as you stumbled and dragged you forward, tossing you roughly into the back seat and slamming the door.

"Oh you won't need a phone where you're going, Miss Y/L/N. You're gonna be much too busy screaming to worry about making any phone calls." The officer's eyes flashed a solid, deep, black.

 

Sam listened to the ringing of your cell phone. He hung up, unsatisfied, a vague worry itching along his back.  "She's not answering, Dean. Maybe we should go back."

"Will you relax, Sammy? She's probably writing into her diary about your manly chest or substandard dick or some shit." Dean grinned and tensed up as Sam slapped his shoulder. Pretty hard too, dammit. "Okay okay. Just try her again in a bit, maybe she went outside or something and forgot her phone."

Sam made a grumbling sound and dialed your number again. _Except that you aren't supposed to go outside and never forget your phone._ Sam again listened to the sound of your unanswered phone as the day began to wind towards sunset.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or its characters. (I should totally write for the show though.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad things are happening to the Reader.

Y/N = your name

  
  


Dean Winchester stared at Bobby Singer across the top of the gleaming black Impala. His giant little brother Sam stood beside him, mouth agape, both pair of eyes wide and round in surprise. "Say that again," Dean demanded. They were parked in the empty lot in front of a closed 'U Buy It U Take It' store, its windows covered over with faded going out of business signs. None of the lights in the parking lot worked even though the sun was beginning to set.

"I didn't call you to come out here." Bobby's tone was overly patient and he spoke slowly. "I don't know what gave you that idea but I ain't called for help from you or anybody else. What makes you think I did? Why the heck would I even need help on a simple salt and burn anyway? I ain't feeble." The older hunter would have been considerably more cantankerous but the expression on Sam's face was something Bobby associated with real trouble.

"You did, man. You called and left us a voice mail telling us to get out here as soon as possible." Both Winchesters were pulling out phones, Dean scrolling through to find the voice mail and play it for Bobby, Sam calling Y/N yet again. Dean rounded the front of the car, scowling down at his phone. "I don't see it now. I know I didn't delete it, it had the directions to this place." Sam was clearly agitated, pacing back and forth and hanging up at your phone went to voice mail, dialing it again as if pushing the buttons harder would make the call connect to Y/N.  
  


*********

  
You blinked back into consciousness grudgingly. Awareness brought pain throbbing in your head and teeth, lancing through your ribs every time you took a breath. You tried to bring your hands up and remembered they were tied behind you, chafed and bleeding from the tight binding that kept you in this metal chair. Taking a careful breath you took stock of your situation: One of your eyes wouldn't open, the other was swollen and painful. You knew your lip was split. Your teeth ached and your mouth felt too tight. Your arms and legs hurt from being tossed around on the hard concrete floor. You were pretty sure your ribs were at least cracked from the beatings you'd endured the past few.. what? _Hours? Days?_ Just cataloging the list of hurts was almost too much for you to bear. Your could feel your pulse banging in your head, and your body throbbing painfully in time with your heartbeat. Breathing was hard. _Was your nose broken too?_ It felt funny, off.

You licked at your cracked lips with a dry tongue. You'd do a lot for a glass of water right about now but you knew that wasn't likely to be in your future, immediate or otherwise. Managing to lift your head very slightly, you saw a light at the far end of this place. _Warehouse? Shop? House? Cave?_ You had no idea. Whatever served for walls were too far away and lost in darkness. You figured the floor was concrete because that's what it had felt like when you landed on it. You couldn't see the floor either come to think of it. It was quite dark in this.. _cell, I guess it's a cell_ and your eye didn't want to stay open.

In that distant light several figures crossed. Squinting, you what had to be a chair, back towards you, that must be occupied because the figures would stop before it for a few minutes then stride away. Tears stung both eyes, swollen and not, as you tried hard to make out exactly what was going on in that small pool of light. _Sam, where are you?_  
  


*********

Sam gasped, doubling over as his head bloomed with pain. He dropped his gun and sank to his knee, hands clutching at his temples as words thudded into his mind. _Sam, where are you?_ Sam didn't hear his brother's shouts or register it when Dean grabbed his shoulders and shook him, trying to make Sam look up. “Sam! Sammy! Are you hit? What's wrong!” Dean was looking Sam over frantically, pulling at his shirts and jackets, looking for any holes or blood. He hauled on Sam's coat, lifting up and leaning him against the Impala as Bobby hurried to them.

“No, it's not me, it's Y/N.” Sam was pale and more than a little wild-eyed. “I heard her Dean, I heard her clear as anything. It's – it's like a vision but different, stronger.” Dean winced at the mention of Sam's visions. Dean would much rather pretend that there was nothing unusual about his brother but he couldn't deny that Sam's visions did seem to be true. “She's hurt. We have to find her, Dean.”

“I know man. Did you pick up any other details?” Dean scanned the empty dark parking lot and exchanged a look with Bobby. Without another word the older hunter returned to his truck, climbed in, and started up the engine. “Anything at all can help. Come on, let's get to Bobby's. We can call Cas on the way, see if he can find out anything on Y/N.” Sam was pale and shaking, his eyes more than a little wild, hanging on to his brother like he'd fall otherwise. He managed to stand and pull himself to the Impala's passenger door, opening it to collapse inside. Dean slammed the door shut behind his brother then quickly skirted around the car to climb into the driver's seat.

“I'm afraid Dean. I'm really afraid.” Dean had no words to give to Sam. He could only start Baby and wheel her out of the derelict parking lot, send her roaring through the night back towards Sioux Falls.  
  


********  
  
You jerked awake again, gasping against the fresh sting of pain that smeared your cheek and mouth. A woman stood before you, her pale face devoid of expression. She had a mass of dark hair pulled back in a hard ponytail. Her suit was dark green and very expensive, beautifully made and it fitted her perfectly. She wore high heels of a venomous green. Her eyes were completely black and full of malice. “That's better, Y/N. Can I call you Y/N? It makes things so much cozier don't you think? We have so much work to do we might as well get all chummy.” As the frightening woman, _demon I guess_ , leaned in closer to you the only thought you could keep in your head was Sam's name.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or its characters.
> 
> It's taken me a long time to get this written. I'm still not best pleased with it so this chapter will probably be re-written soon.


End file.
